


Don't Fear the Reaper

by Lucifer_Rosemaunt



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Family, M/M, supernatural!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifer_Rosemaunt/pseuds/Lucifer_Rosemaunt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik/Raoul slash. A fic about death - as in, everyone you care about dies; this is not an exaggeration. A fic wherein the Chagny family is of intense interest to a soul reaper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Small Thing, Truly

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The title had to be that. Also… don't hate me. It's sad. Warning, warning, warning. Read the warnings.
> 
> Story note: This was supposed to be a 5+1 type story that didn't seem finished after that +1. So, you get 10 chapters. It's not happy at all. There's fluff, but generally… Not happy.

o.o.o.o

Raoul is just out of his mother's womb when they first meet.

His brother and sisters are downstairs in the sitting room, waiting in various stages of unease. Philippe is old enough to keep them calm and busy. He is used to the excitement of a birth and tells his sisters to be calm and patient even when they hear the baby's cries.

"It is normal," he tells them. He senses however, that this birth is quite unlike the others. Their father is not rushing out to tell them the sex of the baby, to introduce the newborn. He is not reassuring them that their mother is well. It is taking too long and the baby will not stop crying. His sisters will soon see through his forced smile. He suspects that Matilde already knows.

The count is a fixture by his wife's side. He clutches her hand as he had throughout the birthing process, but now, instead of encouragement, he pleads with her to live. He pleads with her to fight to stay with the family they have made. He promises her the world, promises to be more present, promises that he will stop buying those candles that she despises. His smile is shaky; his laugh is weak and sounds more like a choked sob.

He is deaf to Raoul's wailing as he is cleaned and swaddled in the midwife's arms. They are on the other side of the bed across the room, but the count does not see that his son shares in his misery, that Raoul sheds the tears that he cannot. He is more concerned about his wife who has lost too much blood, who is becoming paler, weaker, and whose breaths are becoming shallower.

The Comte de Chagny's jacket has long since been tossed to the side. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Both his hands and his white shirt are stained with his wife's blood. His hair is streaked with some as well in his inattention, fingers tangling in his hair in frustration. It is only the love he has for her, the connection they share that allows him to even see the reaper who will take her away from him, that allows him to speak with him.

"Please." He is unused to begging, unused to the possibility of being denied, but for her, the words are easy.

The midwife fears the worst for the count when he speaks to nothing but air, but a moment later, a man shimmers into view and her screams join the babe's whose have yet to diminish.

The man looks clearly out of place in the room. He is the only one pristine and clean from the blood that seems to have stained everything. He is tall, poised and utterly uninterested in the barely controlled chaos of the room. His body is hidden within his clothes; even his hands are covered in black leather gloves. His black suit is a color that seems unnatural, as though the light shining upon it is simply absorbed completely. Instead of illuminating the suit, it creates a deeper shadow. He looks paler for it. Only the skin on his face, smooth and unblemished, is visible. He is handsome, but just like everything else about him, unnaturally so.

The count runs to him and grabs his arm, and finally the man looks something other than bored. He sneers down at him and shrugs off his touch, easily pushing him backwards several steps. Seeing his expression, the count moves reluctantly back to his wife's side, but he is a businessman if nothing else. He now knows a show of weakness like that will not help his wife and he desperately searches for some other means to make this being reconsider taking her. He grasps her hand. It is limp and he knows he is running out of time, but he can hardly think for fear of losing her.

"Do not take my wife," he states. It is somewhere between a plea and a demand, but even he can hear the tinge of desperation in his voice.

The man moves closer to the countess, unmoved by the normally stoic man's obvious plight. "I must take a soul," he intones and his voice is like velvet, smooth and sensual without any effort. It is a voice meant to calm and soothe, and the count rather despises him the more for it. He neither wants to be calmed nor soothed. The reaper continues, "I cannot leave without one."

The midwife gasps, finally comprehending who and what the stranger is. Her eyes are completely focused on him as she attempts to move as far away from him as possible. Her back slams into the wall behind her and she stills. Even her motions to calm the baby have stopped.

The count knows exactly what he can do. "Then take my soul." Bargain. He knows how to bargain.

His words fall upon deaf ears because Raoul's desperate cries are finally noticed. The reaper turns at the sound and slowly walks over to the midwife, curious about the bundle, about the source of such piercing screeches. He gives her a withering look when she turns to protect the baby and she cringes further. Raoul continues to wail. She finds that she cannot even look to the count for assistance because the man seems to fill her entire vision. There is no beyond the reaper; there is only him.

"Take mine," the count shouts again louder. He rounds the bed to get to them, but a simple flick of the reaper's wrist and the count is stopped.

Realizing that she will not be saved, the midwife reluctantly reveals the bundle who only cries louder. The man places a finger to his lips, shushes him, and when that fails, he leans down. The midwife tries to pull the baby away but stops when the Comtess de Chagny lets out a weak moan. She has nowhere to go, nowhere to turn and they might all die given this man's whims. The reaper traces a gloved finger across the baby's forehead, and Raoul suddenly quiets and coos instead. The midwife is too shocked to see the smile that attempts to pull at the reaper's lips.

"This one." His features are schooled into a bored mien again. He turns only far enough to look the count in the eyes, and once he does, the count can move again.

"What?" He hopes he has not heard correctly. He takes a step forward, but when the reaper gives him a warning look, he stops.

"I want this one," he states explicitly. When he glances over at the countess, the count follows his gaze. She looks too still upon the bed and the count almost wishes to go to her to make sure she still lives. He knows she must be alive because the reaper is still here. He has heard stories of these beings from his brother-in-law who was in the navy. He knows what this man is and knows what he was created to do.

"No," he decides. He cannot sacrifice his son.

The reaper's attention has already returned to the baby though, seemingly uninterested with his response. "A contract, then?" With a wave of his hand, he produces a sheet of paper from air. "Your wife will live if you sign your child's soul to me."

"I said no." The count does take another step forward, prepared to fight the reaper if need be for his son's life; however, he is frozen in place once again. His jaw clenches. "Never."

His wife moans and the baby begins to cry again. The count looks between the two, torn because he can help neither. In his inattention, the reaper fixes the midwife with a glare so that he can take the bundle within her arms. The contract disappears so that he can hold Raoul properly. He traces a finger over the child's forehead, smoothing the lines there, and soon the baby quiets once more.

"It is a small thing, truly," he says and the count is unsure if he is speaking of his son or the contract.

He cannot help but glare accusingly at the midwife though, angry that she has let the reaper take his child. He almost fears that he will simply decide to take them both.

Distractedly, the reaper explains as he sways for the baby in his arms. "It is only a promise that I and only I will be able to collect his soul. No other."

It is a strange sight, seeing a man of death be gentle, but the count has little time to think on it because the contract appears in his hands. He reads it over and what the being says is true. His wife will live if he allows only this reaper to take his son's soul upon his death.

"I will not kill him." The reaper looks up and whatever gentleness the count might have seen is gone. "Your wife, on the other hand" – they both look to her – "I need not kill. If you wait long enough, you will have more than my presence to worry about."

The count skims through the contract again and falters at his son's name on the bottom. Raoul de Chagny. His wife has long since known what to name their child, sure in her pregnancy that he would be a boy. She could not foresee however that she would not be able to name him herself. They have barely given him a name and death already knows it. "Take my soul instead," he tries again. "I will sign my soul over willingly."

The man scoffs and glances down at the baby who sleeps peacefully in his arms. "I do not want yours. I have already seen your soul."

"Do not hurt my son," he begs.

"Do listen," the reaper snaps. He sneers at the count, staring at him as though he were naught but a pest that must be eradicated. His aura darkens and the room feels heavy with malice. "I have already said that I will not harm him."

The count's heart is pounding. He wants to back away. Every instinct within him is telling him to leave and he is glad for the magicks that hold him in his place. He is not a coward but he does not want to know if he would run given the opportunity. "You will let him live his life?"

"Yes." The man responds, reaching down to stroke the baby's head, and for some reason, the count believes him. "The contract states that his soul is mine and mine alone to take when he dies." He looks at the count suspiciously. "Despite what you have heard, we do not kill people. Life simply expires and we reap what has been sown."

He has never heard of death spoken as such and it makes him pause. "And afterward?"

"Afterward?" The reaper walks towards him. "Do not ask questions about things you know nothing of. I will soon take your wife's soul and if I am near when this one is to die" – he lifts the baby up slightly – "I will take his, too. With or without the contract."

The count suddenly desperately wants to hold his son. He has yet to even look upon him; he was so distracted by his wife's health. "It is only an assurance, then." He wants to apologize to him, to a son he has already let down.

"Indeed." As though knowing what the count is thinking, the reaper turns his back, making it impossible for him to see his son.

He does not even know who Raoul looks like, if he has his mother's chin or his nose, whether he looks more Chagny than Martyniere. He does, however, know that his wife could live. They can both live. "How long will she have? Will she survive only to die an hour once you are gone?"

"There are no guarantees in life," the man says distractedly, intent on tracing the baby's features once more. "It will be longer than now." He looks at the count but his eyes are distant and the count finds that he can move again. "Does it matter? She will die now otherwise. I do not control life; I clean up the mess it makes once it is over. However," he focuses on him, "I can delay death for a certain price."

Since he cannot approach his son, the count moves to his wife's side and clutches her hand in his, jaw clenched as he stares at her. All he can think is that she is dying and he has the power to make her live.

The reaper shakes his head at the scene, and finding the midwife who is still frozen against the wall, he reluctantly returns the baby to her. "You take too long." Approaching the bed, he begins to remove one of his gloves.

Knowing what that means, the count immediately stands in front of her. "Yes." He repeats, "Yes. Give me the contract. I will agree. I agree. Do not take her."

The reaper grins and pulls the glove fully on. He beckons the midwife over.

"I said…" The count holds his hand out to stop her.

"I need but a bit of his blood," the reaper dismisses his worries easily.

Still, the count finds he cannot calm himself as the midwife brings his son to the reaper. He almost wants to take it back, but he cannot fail his wife. Yet, a part of him feels as though he is doing just that. The man produces a pin and pulls from the warm bundle a tiny hand. The count holds himself back. That is the first part of his son that he has seen.

Without fanfare, the reaper pricks the palm of his hand and Raoul wakes from his slumber simply to cry again. As a drop of blood wells up, he smears it on the paper.

The countess gasps loudly and the count turns to her, dropping to his knees to kiss her hand. He mutters encouragements to her, hoping to coax her back to the land of the living.

With a whispered apology, the reaper traces Raoul's forehead once more to quiet him.

"When will she recover?" The count turns but the reaper is gone and Raoul, sleeping peacefully, is once more with the midwife. "No! The contract. You said…"

"Love," his wife whispers. She already looks better. The color is returning to her skin, and her breaths are stronger. She has enough strength to attempt sitting up, but the count eases her back down onto the bed.

"Do not strain yourself, dearest." He beckons the midwife over and she places Raoul in his wife's arms.

Her smile is tired but relieved, and he struggles with the tears that threaten to fall when she pushes the blankets aside and he sees his son's face for the first time.

Raoul is two hours old and his soul is not his own.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 01

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: So, Erik owns Raoul's soul? Yup, that's the premise of this story. You can see why there are warnings. Soul reapers? A lot of people are bound to die.

I'm excited for this fic, but I kind of hate it for the rushed editing I have to do. I have a feeling I'm missing a lot of things.


	2. Come, Sweet Dove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't think I can post this quickly. I am trying, trying very hard. And succeeding only marginally.
> 
> Story note: Read the warnings. Don't read if you don't want to read about death.

o.o.o.o

Raoul is five when their carriage overturns.

He does not remember exactly how it happens. The road is bumpy, but it has been bumpy since they left the city. He finds it exciting because it reminds him of his riding lessons, and that thought only serves to make him more energetic because that is why they are going to the country. His parents are buying him a horse, a pony. Raoul wants a horse though. He is big enough, he thinks.

His mother has just finished telling him to stop squirming, and when he wakes up, everything hurts. He does not remember falling asleep, but he knows he must have because the world is on its side and he cannot see. He is cold. A mix of blood and tears in his eyes blurs his vision even more in the darkness, and his first thought is of his mother. He wants to cry for her, but he does not know where she is. He cannot find her; he cannot see. When he does try to shout 'Maman,' all that comes out is a cough, tasting of blood and dirt and woodchips. He shifts and does not move very far. A sharp pain runs down his side and his cries turn into more coughs, making him try to curl into himself.

His mother should already be here, picking him up as she always does when he falls and sitting him on her lap asking where it hurts. Everywhere, he wants to tell her. He needs one of her hugs. She had been sitting right beside him in the carriage with his father across from them. They should be close enough to reach and he stretches out his arm, hoping to feel them. His arm does not move much from where it is pinned beneath him, but for a second, he thinks he can feel one of them. He wonders where they are. His father should be crouched in front of him, telling him he is stronger than the pain, and with him there, he would believe it. Right now though, it hurts too much and his nose is running. He does not remember how to be strong.

He can hardly breathe and his whole body hurts like the time he fell from climbing the tree in their backyard. His chest feels heavy, but he knows he is whimpering. He knows because when the blurs finally sharpen, he sees the legs of someone turn to him as though the person has just realized that he is there. That may just be the case because he is now beginning to think that the pressure on his back is a piece of the carriage weighing down on him, covering him, and because they had left in the morning. It could not be night already.

When the weight is lifted, the sun shines in his eyes and the face of the woman he does not recognize fills his vision. She is beautiful, her skin pale and flawless. Her chin is sharp and her nose thin. Her hair is black and wavy. It is left down and he distantly thinks it odd because only his sisters ever wear their hair down as such, and even then, his mother often chastises them for it. The woman wears an elaborate black gown, part tiny black beads, part embroidery. It makes no sound as she moves though.

He whimpers again. She grins as reaches out a gloved hand to him, and even though he does not think he can, he scrambles backward. Some instinct within him tells him to escape, to not let this woman touch him because something bad will happen. He does not like her grin. Her eyes make him feel cold even though sunlight is finally falling upon him.

"Come, sweet dove," she coos at him.

Eyes wide, he shakes his head even though it hurts his neck. More blood slides down his left temple, down his eye and he blinks it away. In that moment, he thinks her eyes turn pure black from their brown. He turns, fully intent on crawling away even though he knows crawling is only for babies. A gloved hand grabs him by the back of his shirt, and the woman takes great pleasure in dragging him backwards before lifting him.

He lets out a wail, calling, "Maman! Maman!" even through the coughs he cannot suppress.

The woman laughs louder and turning, she thrusts him outwards, his legs dangling and his shirt choking him. "Here is your mother."

Raoul sees her then, lying on the floor and he stops calling. Her body is positioned in a way that his brain can only comprehend as wrong, so very wrong. She looks at him, but her normally warm gaze is blank and the smile is replaced by a gaping mouth, opened in a silent scream. With energy borne of fear and desperation, he kicks and twists out of the woman's grasp.

That cannot be his mother.

He feels the drop to the floor as but another sting of pain among all the others so he ignores it. He can ignore it because he can hardly feel his body any longer. It feels cold again and all he knows is running away. He has to find his mother; he must find her, the real her. On bleeding hands and knees, he crawls over carriage debris and unforgiving rocks. The woman cannot seem to stop laughing.

An iron grip that clamps on his ankle jerks him backwards, and his chin slams against the ground. He bites his tongue and just like that, the pain has returned completely. He cannot do anything but cry harder and curl into a ball hoping for his mother or his father to save him. The woman grabs a fingertip of the glove of her free hand between her teeth and slowly removes it, revealing not flesh but bones, bleached white bones that she moves. Her fingers flex and curl and Raoul only belatedly realizes that he is screaming and he cannot stop.

She reaches for him with that hand and he is frozen in place. His throat hurts and the taste of blood seems heavier, but all he can do is scream and stare as her hand moves closer. Before she touches him, he is lifted up easily and strong arms hold him close. More importantly, he is pulled away from the woman. He clutches his saviour's neck, legs wrapping around his waist, clinging to him. He buries his face into the man's shoulder and shuts his eyes, willing the woman away from him.

"This one is mine," the man says, and the voice sounds so familiar that Raoul does not bother to figure out why. It only confirms his belief that he is safe now. He is finally safe. He holds on tighter with arms that ache.

"Is it?" The woman sounds contrite, but she grins unapologetically. She leans forward and feigning confusion, she insists, "This cannot be the one." As she holds the glove in her hand, she meanders closer to them.

The man steps away, attempting to maintain distance between them because he has not failed to notice that she does not put the glove back on. They circle each other.

She comments idly, "I was not going to take him."

It is an honest answer only because he knows that the young boy would have suffered a fate far worse than death at her hands. "I know." He holds Raoul tighter to him as they continue making slow circles around each other. He knows she is waiting to attack.

"I was merely here," she motions around vaguely and kicks at splintered wood. "When the carriage overturned, I did not want them to suffer long." She cannot even make her voice sound empathetic by this point. She is mocking him and lying to his face because she knows this is his territory. She knows what this family means to him.

At her words, Raoul finally pulls away to look for his parents once more and the man is too distracted keeping track of the woman's movements to stop him.

"I am certain you would not have wanted them. They were too far-gone after all." She stops circling him finally and adds disdainfully, "You could not have made any more bargains."

"Oh no," he replies with false kindness. "I know you need them. We would not want you to be chastised once more."

The woman scoffs and takes a threatening step forward. The only sign of the man's response to this warning is the fact that he switches to hold Raoul with only one hand so that he may defend if he must.

"That is why you must poach on other territories, is it not?" The man continues, taunting, "I was rather surprised to find you still here. I would have imagined you to have scurried off once more."

Raoul does not hear their conversation. When they stopped moving, he could finally see his parents. He sees the bodies. That body, those blank eyes and lax mouth are his mother. Blood is spilling from her nose, a trail of it going up her cheek since her head is tilted back. Her leg is twisted behind her, her spine an awkward arc. His father beyond her is turned on his stomach. His face is hidden and his arm is twisted at a severe angle beneath his body. A piece of wood sticks out of his side and there is a puddle of blood growing from him, spreading out into the dirt.

"You think you are so much better," she spits out, then gesturing at Raoul, accuses, "Flagrantly breaking the rules. You think they do not notice? You think you are above us all!" She approaches him.

"I am able to do what is required and when it is time. I do not let souls fester," he retorts and even though it is against all his instincts, he backs away from her. He knows he must keep Raoul safe and confronting the other reaper even if she is challenging him would put Raoul in danger. "You leave them to become disgusting creatures that must be destroyed."

She lunges at him, skeletal hand out-stretched. The man is faster. He has centuries of existence longer than this reaper, but she is not aiming for him. She is aiming for Raoul. He overextends himself, his balance thrown off with the extra weight, but while it is a close thing, he is able to save them both.

Raoul whimpers as the world spins suddenly; the road, debris and his parents all blur as the man holding him ducks and dives to avoid the woman. He feels every sting and ache of his muscles with each movement, but he worries more about what the woman will do if she catches them. He clutches at the man, but he is easily ripped from his savior with a sudden pain in his side. A long piece of wood sails to the floor beside him as falls onto the unforgiving road once more.

His head is buried in his hands and he coughs at the dirt in his mouth. Struggling to get up, he is almost to his knees when he is knocked down, a heavy weight crashing upon him. It is not an attack. An arm holds him close and the man lets out an inhuman scream of pain. Raoul curls into himself tighter, wanting to see what has happened but too frightened to move. The screaming has yet to truly die down and even though the weight lifts off him almost immediately, he stays where he is, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to cover his ears.

She approaches him. He can somehow hear her footsteps through the screaming. He thinks he is screaming too because she is taunting him even though he cannot decipher the words. The sound of her voice alone is a taunt. Her laughter worms its way past his hands and into his ears and she is getting closer. He cringes, picturing the manic glee on her face that he had seen earlier, but then it stops. She stops speaking, stops laughing, and her footsteps simply stop.

There is a heavy pause where everyone is silent. All he can hear is his own ragged breathing.

Then, a sound like a carriage wheel over loose gravel fills the air and her body drops bonelessly to the ground. The man has his hand buried deep within her back as she gurgles and twitches one last time before stilling. The man watches her die with no small amount of remorse, only an expression of disgust as he removes the hand he had buried within her chest.

Raoul does not move when he hears footsteps approach him. He knows it is not the woman and when he is lifted up gently, quiet words soothe him. He tries to look up at the man's face but a gloved hand covers his eyes and Raoul instead turns his face into the man's shoulder. Once he is settled against the strong, warm body, he cries. It finally feels like he can cry in something not of fear for his life. He cries because he hurts; he cries because he can still see his mother and father on the road.

The man turns his head to whisper in his ear. Raoul does not recognize the words, but his body feels heavy and finally free of pain. It is not difficult to drift off to sleep.

Raoul is five and he is the only survivor of a horrible carriage accident.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 02

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: What!? Erik is deformed because he saves Raoul from another reaper? :D Yes.

Also, I don't know why I am convinced that Raoul's parents die by carriage accident. There are a hundred other ways to die that are more plausible, but carriage accident is my go-to kill Raoul's parents convention. Apparently.


	3. All First Loves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for all the reviewers. :) I appreciate the support and the fact that you guys like supernatural!AU's as much as I do.
> 
> Story note: The age jumps… I chose the most important ones. Or at least the ones I thought to be most important. You probably might not agree. DX

o.o.o.o

Raoul is twelve when he first falls in love.

She is pretty and sweet. The contrast of the red scarf she favours makes her skin look a beautiful porcelain, like one of the dolls her father often gives her. He has never met anyone so pretty. Her brown hair is so curly that it never does what she wants it to do; it always falls in front of her face. He tries to be the one to brush it back for her because he secretly likes the way she blushes whenever he does so. She makes him laugh, and he wants her always to be able to do so. She is petite but her smile is wide and her brown eyes draw him in, making him forget the world around them exists. He loses himself, loses days and weeks to time spent in her attic, having picnics and telling stories, tales of adventure and bravery. Raoul wants nothing more than to be those heroes, maybe even be a hero for her. He wants to protect her from the world.

Then, there is her father. He might love her more because of him. Monsieur Daae is kind and always welcomes him into his home. He plays the violin for them while Christine sings and it is the most enchanting performance Raoul ever sees in his life. She is somehow more than herself when she sings; she becomes part of the music with each crescendo and diminuendo, filling the room, surging through him. Her father even offers to teach Raoul how to play and keeps on trying to even when they learn rather quickly he does not have the gift of music. The older man has a warm laugh and tells the best stories. Monsieur Daae is almost how he remembers his father being.

He says almost because flashes of twisted bodies and empty eyes always arise when he thinks of his parents even now, and it is difficult to remember anything beyond that. He knows his father was strong, kind, and determined. Philippe has told him as much time and again. What he himself remembers more clearly are impressions of how his parents used to make him feel: safe, happy, strong. Anything more specific than that, he only lets himself think about distantly.

He likes Monsieur Daae, who turns out to be more of a father figure than his brother ever tries to be - for which Raoul is actually thankful because he needs his brother more than he needs a brother pretending to be a father.

Right now, he is rather mad at Philippe regardless. His brother wants to ruin his life, tear him away from his happiness. Lying on his bed, he lets himself be angry with him, angry that he is going to be left here while the Daae's move on to better things. They are parting ways tomorrow, and no amount of begging on his part seems to convince Philippe to let it be otherwise. It is not fair. Grabbing the pillow beneath his head, he throws it across the room, pleased when it strikes the wall with a satisfying thud before sliding to the floor.

"A tantrum?"

Raoul turns his head to glance from the corner of his eye at the man who appears from seemingly nowhere. He is used to the leather gloves and black suit-clad form that stands by his bed. He need not turn to look at him completely for he knows what he will see. There is comfort in the consistency of his slicked hair, his poise and composure, of his angry-at-the-world mien. The right half of his face is in ruins. The flesh looks to be a combination of having been melted and scratched off; the muscles and tendons there are poorly concealed beneath mostly thin, scar tissue.

He remembers a time when the older man once shied away from him, worried about what he would think. Even though he finally relented about not hiding his face, the reaper never bothered to ask him directly what he thinks when he sees the deformity. Raoul thinks it to look painful, but knows that to be false. He thinks it to be just another part of him, like his gloves or his hair or his elbow, and he likes it as much as he likes everything else of the reaper's. He does wonder sometimes how he obtained such an injury, but has never received a response when he asks. The reaper is always silent when there is question he cannot or does not want to answer.

"Erik," he reaches out a hand to him. Rather obediently, Erik takes his hand and sits at the edge of the bed when he is tugged down. "Did you hear what Philippe decreed?"

He nods slowly. Erik just so happened to be around when they were speaking – well, Philippe had been speaking. Raoul had been whining.

The young boy shifts so that he can grab Erik's hand with both of his. Squeezing tightly, he says in complete seriousness, "I shall never love again."

After a moment, Erik realizes that he will not continue. That is the end of his statement and it has been punctuated with a stricken expression as Raoul silently bemoans his fate and imagines a future without love. Raoul does not think to explain further because he has spent entire evenings telling Erik everything that is perfect about Christine: her voice, her skin, and her father. He assumes that Erik will understand why his life is now over.

Placing a hand on Raoul's head, he brushes the stray hairs away from his face. It takes him a while before he knows what to say, but Raoul is so caught up in his misery that he is actually patient enough to wait for it.

"All first loves feel like this," he says.

There is a wistful tone to the words that make Raoul sit up, forgetting his own woes for a moment. He scoots beside him, ducking under Erik's arm in order to press up against his side.

"And you know?" he asks, tugging Erik's arm tighter around his shoulder in order to take comfort in his solid presence.

Erik looks down at the wide blue eyes longing to find both camaraderie in his woes and insight into moving on, if there is such a thing. Raoul knows he will be honest with him no matter what and his eagerness is tempered with a bit of fear.

The reaper picks his words carefully. "I could never forget the first time someone mattered more than myself. Can you?"

Raoul leans his head back against his shoulder, brows furrowed as he thinks. "Is that what love is? Someone mattering more than me?"

After a moment, Erik explains, "There are different types of love, Raoul." He turns to press his chin on the top of his head.

"I know that." Raoul retorts with the fickleness of youth spurring him on. He ducks from beneath Erik's arm, shrugging away from him. He flings himself back down onto the bed with a large sigh. "It is too true," he mutters to himself as he turns to his side and curls his body around where Erik sits. He sounds less invested in the words, a part of him still thinking about what has been said. Shaking his head, he takes a deep breath and his frown deepens.

Erik grabs his hand and Raoul shifts forward to press his cheek against the leather glove.

"Does love always hurt like this?" he asks instead.

When he does not receive an answer immediately, he looks up at him worried. He has his answer when Erik will not meet his eyes.

"Just take me now then," he moans, turning his face into his comforter.

Erik's response is immediate and biting. "Never say that."

Surprised, Raoul freezes when he sees Erik has tensed; his shoulders are stiff and his back is too straight. His gaze is intense and Raoul has never seen this particular expression on his face before. He cannot quite decipher what the reaper is feeling: angry, hurt, scared?

"Never say that again," he repeats, shaking his head. His voice is hard even though his touch is still gentle, almost painfully so since it seems to make Raoul's chest hurt more. Erik is always gentle with him.

He nods hesitantly, looking properly chastised as he averts his eyes. Laying his head back down, he stares at their clasped hands. When Erik places his hand on his head once more, he leans into the touch.

"I am sorry," he murmurs, peering from beneath his hand.

Erik has relaxed if only a fraction and Raoul does know what his current expression means. He, too, is sorry even if the words themselves never pass his lips.

"Please never make jest about the contract," he implores and Raoul does not understand why he is so affected by a single piece of paper. He has seen it and both Philippe and Erik have explained what it means, and Raoul would have chosen the same thing as his father. He cannot imagine what his life would have been like without his mother, even if he had her for only five years. It is merely a piece of paper. For the reaper's sake though, he knows he will comply. He is willing to forget all about the contract and never mention it again.

Erik, however, is the one who continues the topic. "I gave my word to let you live your life," he explains. The words are familiar but Raoul has never seen Erik so intent on making him understand. "And you would not truly want me to end it so soon." He looks away and echoes, "It is too soon."

Raoul does understand, but for that moment, his chest had hurt so badly thinking about what he was losing that the words simply fell out. He could not explain it now because it seems silly in the wake of Erik's reaction. He knows the reaper would never hurt him even if he asked.

"I…" He is not sure what to say, maybe apologize again, but when Erik seems to pull away from him, he just grabs his wrist tightly to keep his palm and the cool leather against his cheek. Eventually, he agrees with him, "I know it is too soon."

Erik smiles down at him sadly, a small upturn of his disfigured lips. "The girl," he says. "When you see her tomorrow…"

Raoul looks at him in confusion because Erik rarely speaks of Christine even when he spends entire evenings only upon that single subject. He decides he does not like it, especially when Erik extracts his hand from Raoul's in order to stand up and turn his back to him.

His voice is flat when he tells him, "Her father will die within the year."

It takes a moment for the words to make sense. Raoul pushes himself partly up. "Monsieur Daae? You… but…"

"You have my leave to inform her." Erik glances over his shoulder, pain in his expression.

The reaper is gone before he can respond, and Raoul is left mourning Monsieur Daae's impending death and wondering what to tell Christine when he sees her tomorrow. This is a gift, he knows, one of the only and most important gifts a reaper can give, a timeline. He just does not know what to do with it.

Raoul is twelve and he cannot find the words to tell his first love that her father is going to die.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 03

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: Raoul is so dramatic. :D

Third chapter and three people are already dead (his parents and Msr Daae). DX What is with this body count? But honestly, not everyone dies in this fic


	4. Happy Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Almost couldn't post tonight. And it wasn't a one-shot for the Halloween special (although this entire fic is technically part of that series). It's been a long day. Happy Halloween.
> 
> Story note: Raoul is growing up so quickly. D:

o.o.o.o

Raoul is eighteen when he finally decides to inform Philippe of his decision to join the navy.

He has spent almost two years in secret just considering it, weighing the pros and cons of leaving his home, leaving his family, and potentially leaving his reaper.

In Raoul's mind, Erik is his reaper because according to the contract, there is no other that would or could have him. Chagny is Erik's territory, but Raoul has every intention of going out into the open sea, to the ocean and whatever lies beyond it. He knows that does not negate the contract, but he is beginning to think that he does not want his body to be physically here when he dies because his soul will always belong to this province.

Erik will not like the idea – the reaper is overly protective, as is his brother – and therefore, he does not inform him of his plans until the moment the words come out in a conversation with his brother. He would have preferred to tell Erik separately, but Raoul is not so lucky as to have him not present when he tells Philippe. The reaper will be fine though; Raoul is not worried for his sake. His soul may belong to Erik, but nothing of the reaper belongs to Raoul.

He worries more for his brother. After their parents' deaths, Philippe has never allowed himself to become close to anyone else save for his family. Raoul thinks he is afraid to lose anyone else important in his life. He has seen this fear, a certain terror in Philippe's eyes whenever he thinks he has lost any of his siblings. Any accidents, injuries or illnesses bring such instant panic before his brother can control himself.

Even during their sisters' weddings, Philippe had been forced to keep that terror hidden beneath a smile because to him, their departure from their house and his watchful eye had been as good as losing them completely. Raoul knows his sisters have seen the look too because they send weekly missives to Philippe keeping him up-to-date about their health and what they have been doing.

Raoul has sworn to himself never to put that terror in Philippe's eyes. He has done it too many times already; he knows he is actually the origins of it. However, he cannot live how he wants and not hurt him at the same time. His brother cannot coddle him any longer and Raoul has long since been reaching the point where he cannot remain silent about his discontent.

His life has become the same house, the same routines, a repetition of wake-eat-sleep with variations that may as well be nothing. He has begun to hate the mornings and the evenings and every hour in between. He thinks he may be going mad because each day is the same as the last and he can no longer tell one day from the next. He is not simply losing days; he is losing months and years of his life to monotony.

Each passing moment, the world grows smaller. He had once lived in the great country of France with its vast countrysides and cosmopolitan cities, with roads that lead to oceans and seas and other countries. Then, his life became the province and even if the roads were smaller, there were its growing towns and farmland expanses. That soon became the city with its well-worn streets, familiar vendors, and people, which became the estate with its lawn, fountain and fences, to the house with its framed windows, to his room with its walls, and down to his bed. Every morning he wakes up and wants to crawl out of his own skin because even that has grown too tight for him.

He loves his brother. He does, but soon, he knows he will start to despise him for keeping him close and for doing so without even once seeing how it kills him.

So, when Philippe begins to explain how well he is doing with their finances, the words grow within his mind. He promises them all, even their sisters who have been married off to well-to-do gentlemen who love them, that they will never want for money, for anything. And, that is the trigger that allows Raoul to ignore the fact that Erik is in the room with them. It makes it acceptable to say words that he knows he can never take back because if he does, he will never be able to convince them otherwise.

Raoul tells him that he wants for an occupation. He wants for adventure, purpose, and freedom, and when Philippe is silent for long moments because he does not understand the importance of what he is saying, Raoul tells him plainly.

"I wish to join the navy."

Immediately after, he tries not to regret saying anything because he sees that brief flash of terror cross Philippe's expression. Instead, he speaks again quickly, hoping to erase whatever images his brother is seeing of his 'death.'

"I love you dearly but I cannot remain here any longer. Not as we are." He corrects himself, "Not as I am."

The terror may be gone – Raoul thinks it is simply better hidden – but the betrayal is just as easy to see. He quickly steels himself for the arduous conversation that lies before him. He buries the need to be outright defiant because there are only so many ways he can tell Philippe that this is what he wants. It will only make this harder for both of them if he argues as well. There has to be angry words and outrage and even a little betrayal on his brother's part because the fear is too strong and needs an outlet. Raoul can do that for his brother.

After all, Philippe and Erik take it as well as he expects. That is to say, very poorly. He has mentally prepared himself for two years for this moment. It is the first time his brother and the reaper who owns his soul are in accord about anything. They are adamantly against the idea and spend the next hour arguing, coaxing, bribing – all his brother – and glaring with clear disapproval – all Erik – at him, hoping he will reconsider.

"I do not care if we have relations who have been in the navy." Philippe repeats and curses their uncle under his breath. He paces the sitting room while Raoul watches as he attempts to wear down the carpet through the repetitive motion. "It is unsafe. Why?" He does not even wait for Raoul to respond. "Why can you not choose a different occupation? Perhaps… perhaps…"

While Philippe flounders for an occupation he would be willing to allow his brother to take, Raoul spares a glance at Erik who stands in the far corner of the room near the fireplace. He is preoccupied with staring at the flames. His glaring had stopped sometime after Philippe began his tirade about the need for more businessmen in France and their necessity in making their country flourish. Truthfully, Raoul had tuned out most of what he had been saying at the time and his brother had not much need for an attentive audience in order to orate.

When Erik refuses to look at him, Raoul's gaze wanders to the portraits of his parents that are on the wall beside him. He quickly turns his attention back to Philippe.

"A patron for the arts. You love the opera," Philippe nearly shouts when he realizes that there is a thread to follow with this occupation. "Do not deny those starving artists you love so dearly would not need a benefactor."

Raoul understands Philippe's rather intense need to come up with every reason he can to convince him not to join the navy, but there is only so much he can say. Raoul has given him his chance and he remains certain that he will join the navy.

"But this is what I want," he interrupts anything else Philippe might have said.

"You do not know what you want. You are only…" He stops to calculate just how old his younger brother is.

"I am eighteen, brother," Raoul supplies. "Eighteen."

"You are eighteen?" his brother bemoans but then adds firmly, "Only eighteen. You are far too young for war."

"For sea and for country," Raoul states proudly, "one can never be too young." He tries to ignore Erik, but that statement garners a twitch from him even though he is still focused on the fireplace.

"Is this… Is this the demon's work?" Philippe is grasping at anything. They both know it. Erik has never tried to influence his actions even when he was younger and had the most suspect of ideas - not to say that Raoul could not tell when he disapproved because he could. He still can. Disapproval is an expression Erik wears often, but the reaper has never told him he could not do something. Raoul could not say the same for Philippe, and both of them had his best interests in mind.

"No." Raoul cannot help but roll his eyes. "He rather wants me to live as well," he adds, "as something other than an officer."

Philippe frowns and Raoul knows better than to mention that Erik is in the room with them now. His brother has spent years, almost the entirety of his life trying to summon Erik, certain that his status as first born son would be a sufficient enough bargaining tool. The reaper has never appeared to him. Raoul is not certain whether it is because this is a rule amongst reapers or if he simply seeks to irritate him. There has never been any love lost between the two. Raoul has only tried once to talk to Erik about Philippe's offer, telling him never to accept it, but Erik simply gazed at him unimpressed and said that had never been an option.

Philippe eventually stops pacing and eyes the side cart that carries the aged brandy he drinks when he is too stressed to deal with an issue. He refuses to drink now because Raoul is too important to postpone and think about later. That alone is a telling sign; Raoul has won this battle. He can tell his brother is already planning. He can see the letter he will send to their aunt and the precautions he will take in regards to his welfare. There will be talks to every officer that he will serve under and money spent to keep an extra eye on him. All of it will embarrass him terribly, but it is a price he is willing to pay. It means he will be able to leave.

Even though the conversation is far from over, Philippe gives him a hug tight enough to hurt his ribs and then sends him off to do with his night as he pleases. Instead of relaxing as Raoul sorely wants to do, he goes to his room and braces himself for what he knows to be his second lecture for the night.

Once he closes the door behind him, he is met with a calm voice, one that makes him flinch because it means Erik is furious. Raoul is sure he has never seen him this angry, all menacing silence, narrowed eyes, and crossed arms.

On the edge of Raoul's bed, he sits outwardly still, legs crossed, hands resting on his thighs, and his back straight. Raoul knows it has taken the entirety of Philippe's rather one-sided argument downstairs for him to be this calm. "You did not inform me of your intentions."

He wants to say it was his business alone, but that is not true. He has known all along that his life is not his own. He faintly recalls his father explaining it, remembers his mother holding him close at the time and how her warmth surrounded him. He may not have understood the grave words and impact on his life, but he remembers how their fear and anxiety made him cling to his mother. If he tries hard, he can call to mind plans made to void a contract, to steal or rewrite it, and a hundred other plans attempted and failed. It is not until he is five that any of what they told him makes sense. Erik never appeared to him until after his parents' deaths, and the words were suddenly less a story when Philippe had explained it to him again. Then, it was his brother who began to make plans of his own to be attempted and fail.

"I needed to be certain," he says instead, walking to stand by his dresser. He is too intent on watching Erik's reactions to bother with getting his nightclothes. He knows the reaper, has had years to cultivate an understanding of him.

Those years may have been a detriment as well though. Erik is in almost all of Raoul's memories, and it is only a recent development that he has begun to resent his presence, resent his parents' deaths, and resent the soul that is not his. Raoul has been angry, has been it for so long that he does not know how to feel anymore without the ever-present anger.

"Certain of what?" Erik uncrosses his legs only to cross them again. His foot begins to shake, but he stills the motion immediately and Raoul realizes suddenly that he is sitting only because he refuses to pace like Philippe had done downstairs. Erik is angry with him and is doing a poor job of hiding it.

The real problem with Raoul's own anger is that he does not have a focus for it as Erik does. He cannot be angry about the contract because he has no control over his soul when he dies regardless of what the contract may or may not say. Even in regards to his parents' deaths, he is more sorrowful than angry about; he is sad for all the moments he can never share with them, but an accident is uncontrollable by nature. He cannot even be truly angry with Erik for being who he is because the reaper is the closest person to him save his family, perhaps even closer than they are since Raoul tells him everything. There is no secret between them. Except, Raoul has made that false with this desire to leave.

He refuses to feel guilty for that though. "I had to be certain that I wanted this enough," he tells him. "That I could do this." Raoul simply wants something for himself, some thought, some piece of his day, anything that he can call his own.

He wants to be happy again because not having a focus does not stop him from being angry. Some days, he spends in a rage. An ache within him becomes frenzied and agonizing, and the desire to hit and hurt overwhelms him because he is necessarily mad at everything and nothing at the same time. The combination of anger and the resulting guilt he feels for it builds upon each other until he is furious and the person he hates the most is himself. He thinks, just maybe, that if he can get away from them and from this place that the anger will go away.

"Can you really?" Erik stands and Raoul busies himself with his nightly routine because as sure as he is of this decision, he knows any explanation besides the truth will only make Erik press harder and Raoul simply cannot tell him he needs to leave. Adventure is nice and freedom promising, but he cannot say he simply wants to stop hating himself for being so angry.

He does not think he has the right to such anger. Philippe is angry enough for the both of them. They both suffer for something their father had thought right at the time, but it is Philippe who is determined to undo it. His brother has taken the burden of his father's choice as his own, and Raoul does not want to fall into the same trap. He has tried to tell him that it is not his responsibility, but his brother is deaf to anything he has to say about the contract.

Erik approaches him and does not wait for an answer. He is intentionally looming over him and Raoul pointedly ignores him. He manages well enough until Erik speaks.

"I forbid it."

Then, Raoul turns slowly to face him. He has expected many things from Erik, but outright forbidding it has never been a consideration. He thinks he hears false for a moment but the reaper is still staring at him expectantly, as though now that it has been forbidden, Raoul will simply stop desiring to leave.

And Raoul's anger finds a target that actually does not make him feel guilty for it because Erik has lied to him his entire life by saying those three words. Erik has told him many a time that he may live his life as he sees fit. Now that he has finally chosen something for himself, Erik has the gall to refuse him.

"You forbid it?" He repeats. Erik has always been on his side. He has been there and to hear this outright… he had known Erik would dislike this decision. It is the reason behind his secrecy but this reaction is somehow worse than his expectations.

"I do."

Raoul's mind goes blank because he cannot think with all the emotions jumbling within him, but quickly, all the incredulity, hurt, and defiance translates into one thing. Anger.

"Is that also in contract somewhere?" Raoul yells and takes a step toward Erik that effectively ruins his looming. "Does it list exactly what is and is not allowed? Does it say what I am allowed to eat in the morning or how long I should sleep? How long my hair should be?" Erik looks like he wants to respond, but Raoul does not even care. "Perhaps it tells me who I should fall in love with? What I should want? Oh, I know. Perhaps it tells me that I should only associate with you and ignore your faults" – and a distant part of him knows he is going too far, but he cannot stop himself from speaking – "and it must be because the contract that I bother to speak with you. It is all the contract. Why else would I like you? What else about you is worthwhile?"

As the last word falls from his lips, so too does the anger. His chest is heaving from his outburst and it is the first time in his life that Erik looks surprised and speechless. Neither of them knows what to do besides stare at each other, and Raoul wants to take it all back immediately because he does feel guilt even if Erik has lied to him. Raoul knows he will take his last words the worst way possible, and he wants to explain that he meant none of it, wants to apologize because it is not Erik's fault that he has been angry, confused, and hurt for so long.

He takes a step forward, reaching out to him when they are both startled because the door shudders under the weight of a body running into it. The handle turns but the door does not open. Raoul immediately knows it is his brother before he even speaks because he has told him repeatedly not to barge into his room.

"Raoul!" Philippe yells and he sounds breathless. "Are you…?"

He interrupts and suddenly he cannot look Erik in the eye. "Everything is fine!" Raoul turns from him, clutching the nightshirt in his hands.

The doorknob turns again and he can hear Philippe bang his head against the door. There is a heavy pause before his brother quietly says, "Good night."

Erik is gone before the words are even spoken.

Raoul is eighteen and he learns that leaving everyone and everything behind feels a lot like running away from happiness.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 04

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: That is such an inappropriate title for this chapter. :,( Too much feels.


	5. It is Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Totally did burn myself out with Halloween. :( But, I'm trying to get back into the groove of things and hopefully this fic will be better for me having taken a break of some sort.
> 
> Story note: Apparently, you should never trust my chapter titles. D:

o.o.o.o

Raoul is twenty when he returns from the sea to temporarily make his home in Paris.

His brother waits for him to settle in yet another house that he has tried to make a home. It is another city and another building that Philippe hopes will convince Raoul to stay because he thinks it is far enough away from Chagny, far enough away from the memories of the past. He does not understand that there will never be a far enough away because it has never been about a place or about the memories. It has only ever been about himself, and as much as Raoul has tried to obtain a sense of freedom, tried to change, he can never seem to get far enough away from himself. The world has never been too small apparently; only his mind is.

He does not even know which part of him is so discontent with life to make him unhappy, but he knows that part is still within him even now. But, whenever he sees the expectation that mixes with hope in his brother's eyes when he greets him, whenever it is obvious that he is silently willing the universe to make it so that Raoul has found what he has long been searching for away from home, Raoul cannot bear telling him that there is nothing he can do. He doubts Philippe would believe him anyway.

This time, it is a beautiful house that his brother has obviously spent time and money into making it warm, safe, and familiar and Paris is a city with much to offer. Raoul, however, cares little for the carriages, the galas and the glamour. His brother has made residence here and that is the only reason he is in Paris. He is determined to spend as much time with Philippe as he can, just as much as Philippe has made it clear that he intends to spend every waking moment with him as well.

That desperate need to be in each other's presence is admittedly Raoul's fault. He has spent the past two years not staying more than a week at a time on land much less with his brother. He has sent letters whenever he has been able to; admittedly, it is not so much a constant as his sisters' letters, but it is the best he can do. Philippe's own letters often never find their way to him; he is at sea so often. Now, he has several months, near half a year of leave because they are forced to wait for the fall and winter seasons to pass before they can even begin to attempt a search expedition.

It is a reprieve and Raoul finds true comfort in the fact that Philippe is still as protective as ever. His brother has not changed and that is more reassuring than it would have been two years ago, even despite the not-so-subtle hints about staying in Paris as patron of the Opera Populaire – Raoul wants to laugh every time he thinks that his brother has actually followed through with his plan to choose a suitable occupation for him as he had suggested all those years ago. Beneath the humour though, there is worry in his brother's expression and Raoul just knows someone has told him the details of the expedition to the North even though he has been purposefully vague about his next assignment. The topic will come up eventually, but in the mean time, he can do nothing but try harder to make Philippe forget all about the future and instead, focus on the present, focus on taking in everything they have missed about the other while they still have time instead of dwelling on how finite that time is.

He has missed many a thing about his brother, not only the easy familiarity borne of kinship between them. He misses the warmth of Philippe's arm across his shoulder as they walk, a hand mussing his hair – the only person Raoul ever allows to do that – and the cadence of his voice that faintly reminds Raoul of his mother when Philippe is relaxed and his father when he is tense. He misses the weight of fondness in his gaze when he thinks Raoul is not looking. It is better than the terror or the apology he has sometimes glimpsed and he knows for what the unspoken apology is.

It is for what it has always been, and for some reason, Raoul cannot find the words to speak about the contract to him. He knows that Philippe still tries to break it. He would not be his brother if he did not, but where once they would be able to spend an evening good-naturedly arguing about it, now it was simply verboten. Philippe has been pointedly avoiding any talk of it and his reaper; it is yet another thing he has worked hard to make sure this new home will not accommodate.

Raoul does not have the heart to tell him that Erik has followed him here from Chagny. His presence is less of a surprise than it should be though. Raoul has seen Erik at least once aboard every ship he has ever served, in every port and every station. The reaper never approaches him though, never keeps him company as he might once have. His presence is not for him. Raoul only sees Erik when someone nearby has died. He sees less of the reaper's eyes and face than he does the bone hand reaching out, reaching down, and touching a body to take a soul. He has never seen Erik look so grim than the first time he witnesses him taking a fellow sailor's life.

It is intentional, Raoul is certain, that he is saying more in this silence and his actions than any conversation between them could have achieved. Raoul simply chooses not to respond. They have yet to speak to each other and that is fine with him because he still does not know what to say. He had tried to apologize once but Erik simply left and Raoul had refused to call out to him. He still refuses to call out to him because it is easier that way. He thinks it is easier on Erik as well, that maybe they were never really supposed to become so close because death should not be so intent on preserving life.

Erik must have realized it, too, and decided to make the distance between them even farther. It is the only reason Raoul can think of for Erik giving him the ability to see when he is taking a soul. Erik has made him witness his true nature, witness the things Raoul had only ever thought of in the abstract. Two years is a long enough time to ensure that the foremost thought when Raoul sees Erik is that he is a reaper. He flinches when Erik appears because he wonders who is next. He wonders if it is the man beside him, a friend he has made, a villager, an enemy. He has even stopped wondering about territorial lines because there must be something in the contract, some deal he has made with the other reapers so that the region immediately surrounding Raoul is automatically Erik's territory.

In Paris, it is different. Erik lingers. It takes nearly a week of seeing him consistently, of the reaper being present near him at odd hours of the day before Raoul stops expecting someone in his immediate vicinity to die. And it is insupportable because Erik is not allowed to simply visit any more. Once, it had not been discomforting because they would talk and even when they did not talk, they understood. As they are now, there is no reason for him to be so present. He tries to stifle the part of him that hopes Erik is trying to reclaim the friendship they once had because he does not even know if he wants that much less, if it is possible. They are much too changed.

So, Raoul ignores him, hoping he does not yet know that two years living a life he has chosen has not freed him entirely from his anger. He is not happy so much as he is no longer in a rage. The discontent has not gone away and perhaps staying trapped on a boat for weeks and months at a time has not helped him, but he has learned how to better contain the anger. He has learned how to reason away the guilt and how to forget how much he hates himself. That elusive happiness he once had as a child seems impossible when he thinks about the daily reminders of the contract he had with Erik by his side.

Without even such daily reminders, the separation has only made Raoul think more about the contract, think more about Erik and frankly, it makes him want to leave again and try even harder to be someone new, to be someone else. However, he is already tired of running. He is tired of being away from his brother and his home. He just does not know how to stop any more. He promises himself just one last expedition. He will give himself one last chance to find that freedom and happiness he so wants and then he will come back and settle like his brother wants.

For now though, he tries to forget about all that. His brother and the Opera Populaire are enough distractions to do just that, especially when he finds that his and Christine's paths have crossed once more. The few times Philippe is otherwise preoccupied, he spends the scant hours with her in the opera house sharing tales of his adventures. She is a captive audience and his throat is usually sore when he returns home because he has amassed quite a good deal of stories.

Tonight, he has just returned from dining with her. He does nothing more than fall into his bed and attempt to fall asleep, but it is difficult when Erik is present and staring at him from across the room. His expression is unreadable and it has been so long that Raoul cannot even decipher the small little clues that Erik gives away. He no longer knows what his crossed arms might mean or the tight line of his lips pressed together, the tensed shoulders, the seemingly dispassionate eyes; so, he shuts his eyes to it all. Raoul may not be able to sleep but he refuses to be the first person to speak.

Erik eventually moves when Raoul is just beginning to think he should just feign sleep in hopes that the reaper will go away. He surprises him by sitting on the edge of his bed like he used to do when Raoul had been younger.

"Have you returned for good?" His voice is low and Raoul might have said hesitant, but he does not think Erik ever hesitates. It sounds more as if he would prefer to speak on something else but the words simply refuse to come out.

Raoul opens his eyes and the situation makes him feel years younger. It is all so familiar. His bedroom may not be the same but the dip of the bed, Erik's suit, the play of shadows across his face, the warm body to curl around and the gloved hand he could reach out and hold if he just let himself indulge in the touch are all so nostalgic.

He remains lying on his back. The only indication he has heard Erik is the fact that he is staring at the ceiling. He takes several calming breaths before he responds.

"Do you not know already?" The words come out more defensive than he wants, but he means it. He doubts Erik does not know how long his leave is, does not know of the expedition to the North. If his brother has somehow found out, then certainly the reaper has as well. He frowns as an errant thought about them crosses his mind, but the thought quickly passes.

Erik does not rise to the bait, does not react to his tone. He says instead, "Are you so intent on shortening your life?"

It is a struggle to remain lying down, but he manages it. He fists the blankets in his hands though and closes his eyes in an effort to calm himself. "You own my death." He shakes his head, hair tousling against the pillow because that sounded too loud in his ears. He whispers, "Why does it matter to you how I spend my life?" It is a more important question because he truly wants to know. He cannot figure out what Erik has to gain with his life and he has spent endless sleepless nights trying to reason why.

Instead of answering, Erik asks, "How was your dinner?"

He is not particularly surprised by the redirect. He remembers ruefully that Erik does not lie. If he is unwilling to answer a question, he will simply keep his silence. Raoul, on the other hand, has no problem with telling half-truths, but he knows he cannot outright lie to a man who has never lied to him.

He refuses to reveal the fact that dinner was less than optimal. He and Christine had finally exhausted all topics about the present and Raoul's adventures, and they went so far back to speak about their childhood, more specifically about her father. He could hardly look her in the eyes when she began to speak about Monsieur Daae, a man for whom she still mourns. Her smile had faltered. Her eyes had begun to shine with unshed tears, and she simply shut down. She became increasingly quiet, her words growing as distant as her gaze had been. Even though Raoul had done his best to comfort her, all he had been able to wonder was if he should have warned her, if pre-knowledge of her father's death would have somehow made it easier.

He tells himself that it would not have. She would have only worried endlessly and their last days together would have been tainted with fear and desperation. At least, he tries to convince himself of this fact. In truth, he wants to avoid her at any cost now. The guilt is too much.

"It is a surprise that she is here. We have been catching up. She is…" He does not know what he can say about her. "She has grown to be a beautiful woman," he admits and that is the truth. He has seen the crowd of men waiting to meet her after her performances. He could not be happier for her newfound success, but any hope of rekindling his first love is rather hopeless.

Erik is gone before he needs to say anything else, and it still takes him hours before he falls asleep.

After that night, he sees Erik more but it feels as though the silence between them has only grown deeper. Despite his best efforts, he is consumed by a feeling of dread and his natural instinct is to wait expectantly. He waits for the next person to die so that he can see Erik remove his glove and reveal pristine white bone contrasting starkly with his dark suit. He wonders if it will be Christine and Erik had been trying to tell him in their conversation or perhaps it is finally Raoul's time and Erik simply does not know how to admit it.

The worry and fear manage to ruin only fractionally what time he spends with his brother. His brother's enthusiasm has a way of sweeping Raoul up in its wake. They have so much to catch up and Philippe has cleared his schedule specifically to shower him with time and affection. His brother does not say it aloud but Raoul rather thinks Philippe does not expect him to return from the North Pole expedition. It is dangerous, but he has seen worse in his time with the navy, not that he will admit that aloud.

He rather basks in the attention in which Philippe lavishes him. They breakfast together, go drinking, and reminisce late into the night. They eat out every day and watch the opera whenever they can. His brother tells him of his niece and two nephews, filling him in on what he has missed in the two years of his absence. They roughhouse and Raoul finds that the navy has been kind to him because he can finally beat Philippe in their wrestling matches and if he is lucky, in the swordfights. Eventually, the fear uncoils from his stomach.

Of course, that is when his brother decides to bring up the conversation about the North and Raoul is caught completely unaware.

"I would like you to stay here." It is such a simple statement. They are in the parlor and Philippe has been nursing a single tumbler of his favorite bourbon, lost in thought for much of the evening while Raoul catches up on all the books he has been unable to read. "Everything you need is here. I have ensured it."

At his words, Raoul places a finger in the book and says warningly, "Brother." He knows Philippe's seemingly innocuous statements are less statement than they are a segue into a much larger conversation. His brother has been quiet for much too long after dinner for that to be the end all. "If it is about the expedition to the North, you must know that it is quite safe for us."

Philippe looks a little confused by the topic of the North and Raoul wonders if he has revealed it prematurely. His brother shakes his head slightly as comprehension dawns, and in all seriousness says, "I worry for you. Wherever you may be," he adds. "But, here… I know this may not be the life that you want." He gestures to the room.

Raoul will not admit that maybe this could be what he wants: the quiet, the stillness, the fireplace keeping the chill at bay, the house that is a home because his brother has made it so, because his brother is here. The walls are not so pressing, the rooms not suffocating. He has just finished a satisfying meal and he is not worrying about anything. He is warm and though it might not be the happiness he imagines is out there somewhere, he is content. Right now, this is all he can imagine wanting. If he could somehow freeze this moment, he would stay in it forever.

"But you may learn to love it," Philippe says hopefully.

There is no way to stop time, Raoul knows. "I cannot stay here forever," he says apologetically.

"You do not have to," Philippe is quick to respond, though he somehow feels distant to Raoul through it all. "You need a home."

Raoul stares down at the book in his hands because he cannot look at his brother when he agrees with him. He would like a home.

Philippe finally stops staring at his tumbler and downs the rest of his bourbon. "Perhaps you can settle down."

Raoul clings on to his phrasing. "Settle down?" he laughs, hoping to distract Philippe from his train of thought. "I am not so old as to do that, am I?"

His brother spares him a grin. "And you are calling me old?"

"I am calling you," he jests and it is easier than the truths his brother might have uncovered, "experienced, knowledgeable. It is you who should be settling down and I swear" – he crosses his heart – "that I will be present for each and every single one of your sons' births."

Philippe just stares at him blankly, a sad sort of smile in place. "You should have heirs," he mutters.

Placing his book down, Raoul moves to stand up, but his brother places a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated.

"Please think about it. I just want…"

Raoul easily knows the end of that sentiment. "Want me to be safe."

Philippe musses his hair. "Safe and happy, Raoul. I want you to be happy. You may think I have not noticed, but the navy has not made you so."

Raoul ducks from his hand and he just pats his head instead.

"This old man needs his sleep." Before Raoul can react, he bends down and sloppily kisses him on the forehead. "I love you."

He walks away and Raoul watches him go in bemusement. Though affectionate, his brother does not often say the words aloud. Raoul does not think he really has to because he already knows without a doubt in his mind that it is so. He calls back immediately though, "I love you, too."

Raoul can hardly concentrate on his book after their conversation. He expects to see Erik eavesdropping as he normally does, but he does not appear. Giving up on the pretense of reading, he heads upstairs to go to bed early as well.

Some time in the middle of the night, he wakes and cannot discern why. His room is empty and all his things are in place, illuminated well enough by the gibbous moon. There is no unnatural silence. No nightmares chase him from slumber, but he is wide-awake. He lies still and wonders if he should even attempt to return to sleep. The answer is obviously no; he gets out of bed and he has enough experience trusting his instincts to lead him out of his room and down the hallway. All the candles have been extinguished but he has spent almost two months in this house. He knows it well enough to be able to find his way. The only place he would ever want to go is to Philippe's room to see if he can bother him.

His brother's room, too, is dark, but that does not stop Raoul from turning the doorknob as quietly as he can and slowly pushing it open. He peers around the door only to freeze. The moonlight is enough to reveal a scene that nearly stops his heart.

Philippe is asleep in his bed, comforter having fallen down to his stomach as he lays on his side, hugging a spare pillow to himself. That is normal. What is less so, is the fact that Erik stands over him, his right hand bare and skeletal, reaching out to him.

"Erik!" Raoul lunges forward, swinging the door open so that it bangs against the wall and bounces back to slam shut. He does not care about the noise he makes because it startles Erik away from the bed. He dives across his brother who lets out a gust of air at the sudden weight upon him, and Erik immediately pulls further away in alarm, careful to stay away from him, lest he touch the wrong Chagny.

"What are you doing?" he says accusingly.

Erik will not meet his eyes. He focuses on carefully tugging his glove into place.

Raoul does not have the opportunity to ask him again, though he wants to. His brother shifts beneath him letting out a gasping sort of cough, and he takes the hint to move off him. He half-kneels on the bed, keeping himself between Philippe and Erik. Holding an arm out in front of his brother, Raoul glares at the reaper. "Stay away from him."

Erik lifts his head slowly to meet his eyes and Raoul swallows with some effort because there is no guilt there, simply sadness. Understanding. And the conclusion Raoul is quickly drawing is not one he can accept.

"Raoul," Philippe whispers and the denial is nearly on Raoul's lips, so he is grateful for the distraction. Saying it aloud would only make it more possible. He ignores Erik, turning his back completely to the reaper as he grabs hold of the hand that Philippe has on his arm. He cannot understand why he suddenly looks so pale and fragile. He blames the moonlight, blames the all-too-busy schedule his brother normally maintains.

"Brother," Philippe offers him a smile but it is shaky and it is all wrong because that smile looks more like a wince. "Everything is fine. It is fine. It is." He glances towards Erik and Raoul freezes, hand gripping Philippe's tightly.

"You can see him." It comes out in a single exhale of disbelief, of denial. He looks between them. "Why can you see him? You cannot see him!" His voice rises and when his brother does not answer, he turns to Erik. "Why do you reveal yourself now? What…?" He cannot breathe and only Philippe's hand anchors him in the moment. Erik looks away again like he cannot stand seeing Raoul like this, like for once in his existence he is ashamed of what he is because it has led them to this point. He is about to demand an explanation when Philippe speaks.

"I am unwell, Raoul." He places a hand to his chest and his eyes shut for a moment. "I have been. Erik has…" he struggles to explain, "helped. He has waited because I have asked and there is…" The words just stop and he takes a moment to collect himself, and Raoul wants to know why he does not sit up, wonders why his brother is not fighting this and struggling and how can he lie down in a moment like this. Philippe settles for the statement, "He has waited," as though that is explanation enough, and unfortunately, Raoul understands. His brother does not have the strength to move.

He fights the tears that quickly brim and fall. Shaking his head, he falls into his brother's waiting arms that clutch him close. There surrounded by his scent, his warmth, his strength, Raoul thinks of a future without him and he sobs. He thinks of two years worth of memories they could have filled between them and he cannot breathe through the tightness in his throat. A slew of thoughts insignificant and mundane manage to break what little control Raoul has on his emotions: his brother during breakfast, behind his desk, hiding behind the morning paper, laughing as they race upon their horses, or playing with their niece and nephews because Raoul knows the children love their uncle already. His brother would make the best of fathers.

"Go back to bed," Philippe suggests when the heaving of Raoul's chest has lessened, when his sobs are quiet enough. "You are not meant to be here, and I suppose it is time." He glances at Erik, giving him a slight nod. He does not think the reaper sees the motion because his gaze is fixed on Raoul. He rubs circles on Raoul's back and tries to tame the mess his hair has become. "Go back to sleep."

Raoul shakes his head and clings to him more, tears soaking Philippe's nightshirt. "No." He pushes himself away so that the words are not muffled. He looks at Erik and demands, "Make another deal. Another contract."

Erik glances at Philippe and Raoul wants nothing more than to block their line of sight. It feels wrong; they should not be so well acquainted that a single look is all it takes to convey a message, and Raoul wants to know how long Philippe has known, how long they have been waiting just for him to come home.

"I cannot," Erik says.

"What do you mean you cannot?" Raoul sits up further and he knows his face is streaked with tears and his cheeks are probably blotchy but his voice does not crack and that is all that matters. "Mother was dying, and you saved her." It would not matter if his voice cracks because he needs to do this for his brother. "Save him."

Philippe and Erik share another look and Raoul wants to grab Erik's face to keep him focused on him alone, but when the reaper finally looks at him, it is to slowly shake his head.

"I have strengthened his life as much as I could," Erik explains haltingly and Raoul knows it is because he is not allowed to explain at all. There are concepts there that he cannot put into words and at the moment, all Raoul hears are excuses, excuses for letting his brother die. "There are instances where there is nothing left to extend. He is already too far gone."

"If I mean anything at all to you" – he launches himself at Erik, his hands gripping Erik's lapels the only thing keeping him upright – "save him."

This is the closest they have been to each other in more than two years and all Raoul can do is shake him. He himself is shaking regardless. Erik's face looks the same, his eyes, his deformity. The expression is new though. Raoul knows reapers never age, but it did not stop the expectation from being there. It is yet another thing to be angry with him for because his brother has felt the passage of time all too clearly.

Philippe puts a hand on his back and the touch alone is enough to extract Raoul from his grip on Erik. "Raoul."

Raoul cannot bear to look at either of them as he slumps back down onto the bed and Philippe sounds like he normally does, all chastisement and fondness and a sob breaks free. He shakes his head to what, he is unsure, perhaps to the entire situation.

"I have…" Erik starts.

But Raoul simply does not care. Erik will not save him. "You have done nothing!"

Philippe sighs. He gently tugs Raoul's arm and Raoul turns and naturally curls up against him, head resting on his shoulder. "He has been holding me together for months," Raoul flinches at that, but Philippe continues, "and I can feel myself slipping away."

"Hold on tighter." Raoul says, as though it is that easy. "For me. For me, please." He knows it is not so easy. The words are muffled against Philippe's shoulders and a fresh surge of tears begins to fall. "I will not go to the North. I swear I will not. I promise. I promise."

Pressing his lips to Raoul's temple, Philippe takes in a shuddering breath and Raoul tries to look up to see if he is crying but Philippe holds him down. "Go back to sleep." His grip does not loosen on him though. "I did not want you to see this."

Raoul clenches his brother's shirt in his hands. "You expected me to wake up and simply find you dead?" His voice cracks at the last word and he tries to cover it up by sniffling loudly. "How is that better? How?"

"Listen to your brother." Erik says.

"No," Raoul spares just a moment to glare at him because the anger feels better than the misery that threatens to overwhelm him. "You do not get to tell me what to do."

Erik clenches his teeth through his retort, "I know that."

Philippe's next statement has all of Raoul's attention though. "I was selfish." His smile is all wrong again and it all makes sense now even though Raoul does not want it to. "And I wanted to see you one last time even though it would not have lasted. I could not tell you."

And Raoul wonders how long he will mourn, if his grief will rival Christine's. "I am not leaving." Even as he shakes his head, he can feel Philippe relax beneath him. "You will not die alone. You… There is so much…"

Philippe kisses him on his head. "I am so proud of you." His voice is rough and Raoul does not need to look up to know that he is crying. His body is relaxing in increments, relaxing and Raoul wants to tell him to fight harder. "I never get to say it enough, but I am so proud of you."

Instead, he tries to memorize the words, the feeling he receives hearing them from Philippe's voice. He tries to imprint them in his very being because it is all already slipping from his fingers.

"No. Not yet." He begs, "Not yet."

The hand on his back makes lazy circles. "I am sorry."

"For what?" Raoul sobs and he rambles, sentences falling in quick succession, "You have been the greatest of brothers. It is I who am sorry. I never should have left. I should have visited more. I should have been here."

Erik turns away from the scene. He cannot block out the sound of Raoul's choked sobs or Philippe's contrite tone though.

"I am sorry I am leaving you alone." Philippe quirks a smile. "I never meant to."

Raoul's breath hitches. He cannot speak. His throat spasms and constricts because there is still too much left to say. He sees movement from the corner of his eyes and he tries to cover more of Philippe's body, make it impossible for Erik to find any part of him to touch. He would sacrifice his body if he could.

"Please no." His voice cracks, sounds too weak. He reaches out and knows Erik lets him grab his wrist. The tears blur his vision so much, the bones getting closer to his brother could simply be a pale, pale hand. Erik waits for him.

"Shh," Philippe coaxes, trying to calm him. He can feel the rapid rise and fall of Raoul's chest. "It is fine. It is fine," he repeats over and over and Raoul knows he is trying to convince the both of them. "You will be fine," he whispers. "I love you."

"I love you," Raoul replies. It is not enough to say it once. "I love you," he says but he means do not leave me, do not go, do not die.

Do not die.

Philippe understands but does not make empty promises. Stroking Raoul's head, he settles more comfortably with him on his chest, as though they are still children not worried about what their future holds, implicitly believing that there is still a future for them both.

Raoul has to let go of Erik's hand to properly hug him, to make sure all the words he has never found the time to say is transmitted through his touch, through this one last embrace, through his tears.

His brother's hand stills and slides onto the bed well before Raoul's tears stop falling.

Raoul is twenty and he memorizes the sound of the last beats of his brother's heart.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 05

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: One of the first on-screen deaths we read. D: Not the last of course, but it's there. Actually, if it'll sooth your mind. I think there's only one more death in this story. Also, this chapter killed me to write. It gets dramatic and honestly, I like it dramatic because when else am I going to write about death?


	6. You Are Killing Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, that’s more of the usual update timeframe, huh? Which is horrible. D: Also, btw, I’m sure you noticed that the timeframe is a little shifty in these two chapters, too, something I definitely should fix, but haven’t.   
> Story note: Poor Raoul. Need I say more? Well, there is more, but you’ll just have to keep reading. (When is it not Poor Raoul?)

o.o.o.o

Raoul is twenty-one when his ship makes its way through open sea en route to the North.

The weather is frigid, the seas choppy. The cold settles in his bones no matter how many layers he wears, so he no longer bothers attempting to feel warm. He is certain warmth is just a distant memory he buried in Chagny anyway.

The captain has been worriedly muttering to his confidant, the ship's surgeon, of the unseasonably cold weather. He questions the prudence of continuing with the expedition and Raoul almost oversteps his position several times, wanting to convince them that they _must_ go on. It is imperative. Those poor souls depend on them; they cannot turn back now. He is willing to do almost anything to convince the captain of this, but luckily, he need not utter a single word because fate or mercy is on his side. Their supplies would not sustain a journey back. Any decision now will have to be made at the next port.

They press forward through the snow flurries that obscure their visibility, through the skies that are as chaotic as the rough seas that toss their ship about with ease, making progress difficult. They are buffeted, but they _are_ able to continue onward and Raoul is glad for it. He needs to keep moving forward.

That particular need is different this time, different because there is no returning home after this. His sisters have their own lives that he has long since not been a part of no matter what they tell him. He refuses to be an interloper, and distance is the only gift he can truly give them. He would keep the love for their spouses, for their children apart from what he has known all his life.

His sisters know of the contract, of reapers and the path they must all eventually take. They know, but he does not know if they truly believe how present Erik is. He can think of no other reason for why they have somehow been kept separate from it all. It is most likely their mother's doing. Their mother had been the more practical of their parents, more able to live in the moment than worry about the past or of things out of her control. Life had been almost normal with her efforts, of what he can remember of that time.

Hope beyond all reason, to futility, seems to be a fault of the men of their family. His sisters have been spared the false hope that drove their father and Philippe to distraction. They have been spared the false hope that fills Raoul about his existence, about what the reaper could never do for him.

His only comfort now is the knowledge that his sisters will be able to move on and be happy. Even though they no longer carry the name, they are and have always been the strongest and most versatile of the Chagnys. Philippe may have been the cornerstone upon which their family of four had been laid upon, but his sisters have done the near impossible and forged a life of their own despite the trials they have faced. As such, there is no going back.

Raoul no longer worries about the fact that he is still running. There is no brother to stop him now, no brother to watch over him or worry for his health. There is no brother at all, save for the body in the mausoleum and the one that haunts him in his dreams. Months later and his dreams mock him with glimpses, snippets of what should have been tedium: a laugh, a hand upon his head, a look in his eyes and the sound that follows him into his waking hours, a heartbeat that never slows to a stop. He fears that he will go mad long before he dies.

So, on nights when the sea does not rest neither does he. His shipmates are able to disregard the violent motions that make the hammocks upon which they slumber swing and jerk; he allows the motion to keep him awake. He listens to the cacophony of the snores that manage to overpower even the wailing winds. There are some nights when Raoul has no choice, however, and he does not slumber so much as he falls into a consuming darkness filled with memories. Usually, he is lucky enough that the exhaustion that weighs him down does nothing more than deepen the dark circles around his eyes.

As with tonight, he willingly chooses the night watch to relieve those more willing to rest. He huddles within his coat, not bothering with the blankets in the crow's nest. Staring unseeingly into the frenetic darkness, hands clutching his coat stiffly, he does his best to keep his mind similarly numb.

"You are killing yourself," Erik says to him, appearing from where Raoul can only assume is from reaping yet another unfortunate soul nearby.

Raoul has had enough practice ignoring him that it is second nature not to respond. He does not even give the reaper the satisfaction of acknowledgment; however, if he thinks about it, he has never truly ignored Erik. Erik has always been there at the center of his attention, a beacon that Raoul simply pretends he does not see.

By now, there is no shock to his sudden appearance or that phrase though. Since Philippe's death, there are very few hours of the day that Erik is not by his side. He worries and Raoul cannot help but want him to do so. It is familiar and reminds him of a time when his home was not a ship upon a sea. It warms him slightly to have Erik's concern even as he outwardly shuns it.

What Erik says is too much the truth for him to admit anyway. He does not know how to explain that he no longer has an appetite, that he does not eat save meager mouthfuls because he cannot stomach anything more. The pain is accompanied by the cough that plagues him, making both his chest and throat hurt so much that swallowing is an effort unto itself. He thinks it is because of the cold, but there is no warmth for him to find anywhere. Moreover, he cannot admit to the nightmares that make his sleep fitful because then he will have to explain about the heartbeat and the heavy smell of fresh loam that had surrounded him in the cemetery. Nowadays, he feels weak and slow and everything takes too much effort. Even the thought of attempting to explain it all to Erik makes him weak; it would take energy he simply does not have.

So, instead of speaking, he brushes off the snow from his clothes and the rails. The swinging lantern overhead flickers. Whenever the light is completely swallowed by cover of snow so that it throws him in complete darkness – and he hopes that the lantern is indeed flickering because darkness has begun to creep into his vision lately when he least expects it to – he cheats and tries to look at Erik, needing to make sure he is really there. Whenever he does though, old instincts take root and he wonders, _Who is next?_ He thinks that perhaps there is something in the ocean that will sink this ship and kill his comrades. He searches harder against the snow while the reaper's gaze seems to search him. For what, Raoul cannot fathom.

"You are killing yourself." Erik falls back upon such words because he can say nothing else. There lays a vast ocean of words left unspoken between them that neither quite knows how to properly see crossed.

Raoul has not spoken to him since the night his brother had been taken from him. He can hardly meet Erik's eyes, but it is not out of anger. It _was_ at first, anger at Erik for not telling him sooner, for being present, for taking Philippe away. There was so much anger on that bed as morning dawned when the servants and the doctor attempted to tear him from his brother's side. He only faintly remembers the series of events that led to their separation.

_Morning breaks and someone finds him, body still wracked every now and then by sobs as he lays half on Philippe. They call for the doctor even though they know; they_ know _that Philippe is already dead because they call the undertaker as well. Efficiently, emotionlessly, they work around him, leaving him to his grief until the very moment they need to take away Philippe's body. Then, they have little choice but to deal with him._

_None of them can convince him to move nor can any of them force him, but where the others fail, Erik succeeds. He is the only one who holds on tightly enough, grounding him with pained expressions and a touch long absent. Erik withstands his tears and shouting, his fists and flailing, his rage, which takes so much time before it peters down to the heavy sorrow that he will eventually carry with him to the North. It is only Erik who stands by him, but it is not enough._

Raoul knows what Erik is and has known all along in some distant manner that he will be the one to take his family's souls. He cannot begrudge the man for simply being, but he has buried his brother. When he looks at the reaper, he recalls the feeling of Philippe's breath stopping, his heart stilling. He thinks of his parents, how they did not go as peacefully but are just as dead. Then, he thinks of who is left, his sisters and their families, of the people it seems he will outlive and he cannot bear to look at himself much less at Erik. Foresight, _knowing_ is not enough to stop the pain of their deaths.

_He leaves the condolences of Paris for those of Chagny, for his brother's funeral so that he can be laid to rest next to their parents, next to their ancestors. His sisters and their families come as well. Philippe once again brings the Chagny family together in one place and Raoul wishes that it had been for anything save his funeral. By some unspoken agreement, one of his sisters is constantly by his side and the void within him seems less vast with his arm twined with one of theirs; their floral perfume, calm voice, and warm touch fill his senses._

_He meets his niece and nephews. They are precious and energetic. Their tears and their laughter receive equal energy as they run about the estate, but all Raoul can see is an engraved name upon stone. All he can think is that one day, they too will die, and he cannot help but search for Erik amongst the crowd._

_Of course, Erik is there. It feels like it should be a mockery of some sort but the reaper is only yet another person there to pay his respects to his brother, to the Chagny family. To him. Erik is there for him; he knows that. Erik has always been there for him and Raoul hates himself for being comforted by him more than by his sisters._

_His sisters simply do not understand. They do not see why Raoul does not cry, why he can be so angry with himself for making his brother suffer when the doctor claimed natural causes, angry with Philippe for waiting to die, for dying when he does. They do not understand, and Raoul hopes they never do. It is enough that they, too, have lost a brother. They need not know the taker of his soul, need not know the deals made to prolong meager days and weeks just to wait for a prodigal brother, of the heavy knowledge of knowing the hour of one's death. And eventually, he does not need to worry about saying something out of turn because they finally part ways from Chagny to live their separate lives._

He thinks that is when the cold truly begins to settle. Without his sisters there pressed against his side, he feels his isolation more distinctly. Erik is there and he finds himself yearning for him to do more than watch him. He wants him to cross the distance between them, erase it and make Raoul remember what it is like to be comforted. It feels as a betrayal somehow that he yearns once more for the comfort of the reaper's touch, for peace when he should still be mourning. There is familiarity there, an ease that Raoul knows he no longer deserves. He cocoons himself in his sorrow instead and fears the only time he will be able to look Erik in the eyes is when he, too, dies.

That may be sooner than they expect, sooner than even for when Raoul has planned. The estate settlement that his brother created in the last months of his life ensures the land will always remain in Chagny hands and that his sisters and he will be well cared for; so, Raoul need not worry about that. More importantly, he has said goodbye to each of his sisters and their families and though they did not understand the import of it at the time, Raoul has sent them off with his love as well.

The truth is that he rather expects to never return from the North. There is an apology repeating in his head to Philippe for not being able to follow through with his last wishes but he would never be able to settle in Paris now. It will only ever be the city where his brother died. The remorse he feels is not enough though, not enough of an apology and not enough to keep him from going.

However, tonight is not the night he dies. The seas calm eventually. As usual, Erik leaves, without a word, to perform his necessary duties and Raoul is alone once more. The snow settles and melts upon the waters and the sun rises. Raoul does not feel any warmer but as he turns his face toward the dawn, he closes his eyes and feels the whisper of a touch against his cheek. He imagines the wind to be a reaper's touch before continuing with his own duties upon the ship.

The calm lasts only the morning because the rest of the week is spent in darkness, tossed and heaved right until they arrive at Tyskebryggen and the Bergen port. It is not their last port before the North Pole, but it is the first land in a while, a place that does not move with the fickleness of the sea and all are eager to go ashore.

Raoul stays with the ship and avoids the others who have remained as well. Most of them choose to stay below deck, sheltered from the steady drizzle as the storm that has followed them to port now dissipates. He wanders the deck listlessly, ignoring the pangs within his stomach that will soon become cramps if he does not at least take some bread and ale. He wonders if he will make it to the North Pole at all. Instead of eating though, he tries to walk off the fatigue that attempts to settle. Midway through his first circuit around deck, he stills, holding his breath against a cough that threatens to loose itself when the ship seems to spin beneath his feet. The coughing fit that ensues hurts his chest even worse than any of the other fits previously, but at least the ship attempts to right itself and the skies give him some reprieve by clearing.

He grabs onto the damp rails, hoping to steady himself and stares at the rather calm waters below, knowing that the sea could not have been the cause of his dizziness. He rather suddenly remembers the tales of how a boat is the only viable passage to the afterlife. Darkness creeps in from the edges of his vision when a vaguely familiar voice speaks.

"You are killing yourself." Instead of the usual monotone with heavily implied disappointment, this voice is almost gleeful.

Raoul turns in surprise because it is not Erik who has snuck up on him but a woman. His first thought is that it is bad luck for a woman to be on board, and he knows upon closer inspection that she will not be an exception. Standing several strides away from him, she has brown eyes and sharp features framed by long black, wavy hair, but that is not what makes her distinctive. Her cloak and gown, beaded and embroidered, are of the darkest black; they remind him faintly of Erik's clothing. Her dress fits her wrong though. The left side of her body seems concave and hollow, and Raoul has seen similar injuries from when a shipmate had been blown apart by a cannonball. She should be dead, but that is a useless observation. She is clearly alive, albeit missing one arm, and he is certain he should be able to place where he has seen her before.

She limps towards him and her next comment confirms his suspicions. "We meet again."

Raoul edges away from her, gripping the rail for support. For one so slight, her presence is almost stifling.

"Do not move away." She motions for him to come closer with her hand, one that is covered in a black leather glove. "Come, come, sweet dove."

He shudders as a chill seems to race down his spine at her words.

"If you wanted to end your life," she says pleasantly, "you need only call." Her smile is frightening, all teeth and malice. It looks as though she will relish taking his soul and he realizes that he has never seen Erik enjoy what he does. He has never thought that someone could.

He takes another step away from her, but the floor beneath his feet seems to violently move again and his knees buckle. Staying on his feet is an effort of sheer force of will. For a brief moment, his gaze focuses on the woman to an odd clarity. A disease or disfigurement seems to climb up from her torso to her neck. It reminds him faintly of something but his head is still swimming and he loses his train of thought. His vision blurs and there is three of her as she stalks toward him.

"Years." She nods to herself, practically giddy with excitement. "I have waited for this, for you to finally depart from this world." She motions vaguely around her.

She is the first reaper he has ever seen besides Erik and the wrongness of it confuses him. He clings to the rail, clings to the only thought that makes sense right now. "You will not be able to take my soul."

She laughs and her mouth yawns open in a seemingly endless black hole ready to swallow him. "Oh, but I can." Looking around, she grins widely, "I do not see that poor excuse of a reaper anywhere to stop me."

During her momentary distraction, he lurches forward, further away from her, stumbling and using the rail to propel him forward. His stomach growls and churns. Reflexively, he puts a hand to it, pressing the hunger pangs away like he normally does. The action distracts him enough that when he glances over his shoulder, he startles when he sees her close enough to touch him. Her glove is still on but he still flings himself forward, tripping on his own feet. The impact with the deck winds him and he cannot move for a long moment.

She grabs the back of his shirt and flips him over. Before he can recover, she grabs the front of his shirt, twisting it in her hand to lift him partially off the ground. She leans over him with a victorious smile. He does not know what she plans to do with her glove still in place, but he is certain he does not want to find out.

Erik's voice stops her from moving. "I thought I killed you already." He looks hesitant to approach any closer with the other reaper holding onto Raoul as she is.

It takes Raoul a moment because of his relief at seeing him before he realizes what is off about his appearance. Erik's shirt is partially untucked and it looks as though his coat and trousers have wrinkles. It is the first time Raoul has ever seen him anything but composed, and he wonders what the woman has done to delay him. She is undoubtedly the reason why he looks as such because she does not look surprised at his presence. Instead, she straightens enough to see the state of his clothing before laughing loudly.

"You disgust me," Erik comments, taking a threatening step forward.

Her hand tightens on the collar of Raoul's shirt and without any effort, she lifts him high enough that he has to scramble to his feet.

Erik stops approaching only when Raoul's feet no longer touch the deck and her hand is pressed tightly against his windpipe. Gripping her arm, Raoul is grateful that she still wears her glove but knows it will matter little if he cannot breathe properly. He cannot even spare a glance at Erik for help; he is so focused on relieving the pressure on his throat. From this angle, he can see the scarring on her neck and there is another memory he cannot reach, but he suddenly dislikes the woman more than ever for it.

"It took you long enough," she says conversationally, unfazed by Raoul's attempts to kick out of her grasp. "I thought I was going to take him without having an audience."

"Release him," Erik demands, and his voice is hard, dangerous and Raoul cannot believe Erik can sound as such.

"Oh, no." She glances at him and smirks. "I think not. I prefer to watch you both die." She drops Raoul and watches as he crumples to the ground. Erik starts forward but she wards him off with a glance, promise in her eyes that Raoul will suffer if he continues.

Moaning, Raoul turns over onto his knees. Nothing is broken but everything hurts. Despite the pain, he manages to glare at the woman; however, she is not paying attention to him. When she reaches into her cloak, both Erik and Raoul tense, but it is not a weapon as they expect. Erik catches what she throws to him, frowning at what looks like simple manacles.

"Be a dear." She grins, motioning him to continue.

Sparing Raoul a single glance, Erik tests the weight of it in his hands before grudgingly putting them on. Snapping one cuff on, he grits his teeth at the sensation of weakness suffusing his body, leaving him feeling uneasy and, more importantly, unwell. When he snaps the other on, he falls to his knees as the chains pulled him to the deck, and he cannot breathe much less bring himself to his feet.

"Erik." Raoul stumbles forward, forgetting about the other reaper completely.

However, before he can get very far, she grabs his arm with an offhand, "Let me help" before tossing him in Erik's direction with enough force that he falls to the floor and slides until he crashes into Erik. The only reason they do not get any farther is because the manacles do not move from their spot on the deck. Raoul rolls half atop Erik in the abrupt stop.

"Raoul," Erik says through grit teeth when his hands jerk to a stop from where they are raised in an attempt to help him. It takes a moment before Raoul can respond, but he unsteadily drags himself off Erik.

"I am well," he promises even though he is not sure if he is. "Are you...?" he begins before the other reaper interrupts him.

"Oh!" she places a hand over her mouth in faux shock. "Did you not want your little pet with you?" She can hardly keep her glee contained because her giggles become unpleasant laughter. "You see. You cannot simply _stab_ me," she spat out, lip curling up in disgust, "and hope I will die." She limps toward them.

Gingerly kneeling, Raoul places himself slightly in front of Erik. Between them, he knows the older man is the most disadvantaged at the moment. Feeling Erik's hands shifting in the manacles, he glances at him.

"Get behind me, Raoul," Erik hisses, but Raoul ignores him and focuses on the fact that Erik is trying to remove one of his gloves in an attempt to remove the manacles.

Raoul can do nothing but trust that he will be able to free himself and save them both given enough time. Staying firmly planted where he is, he tries to ignore the fact that his heart is pumping so hard he can hardly feel anything else.

"What do you want from us?" He surprises himself by sounding more sure of himself than he feels. All the while, he tries to will his body to listen to him, will it to be able to protect Erik even as his legs shake. He knows he will be unable to get to his feet so he does not bother trying to.

He grimaces when his efforts at distracting the other reaper from what Erik is doing is ruined when Erik growls at her. "You have gone mad." Raoul should have realized he would not have remained quiet because even in this position, Erik will not beg. He only demands, "Release him."

Thankfully, she ignores him. "You see." Her hand is hidden beneath her cloak and Raoul does not trust her at all. He doubts she has another set of manacles there for him, but the motion seems to be more habit than intent. She seems glad for the audience, pleased to be able to explain it to someone. "You cannot simply touch a reaper and expect her to die." She pauses only to pull her hand from her cloak, empty-handed as she motions at Raoul. "The touch of death will not kill one already dead." She shrugs. "Obviously."

Raoul wants to hazard a glance behind him to see how Erik is faring, but he refuses to give away whatever he may be doing. It is enough to hear Erik muttering under his breath, words that he cannot quite decipher or understand. He tells himself that it is the sound of progress.

"The bone must remain inside the body indefinitely, so that the infection can spread completely to every sinew and capillary. It takes weeks, months before the process is truly complete…" Her gaze goes distant, but quickly shaking her head, she tries to sound matter-of-factly. "No matter how well-placed an attack is the body will find a way to continue, discarding useless flesh, causing undue pain and injury." She sounds as bitter as she looks when she motions to the missing half of her body and then at Erik's face.

Erik freezes behind him when Raoul finally doesturn to look at him, so surprised that he does not even take a moment to look at his hands to note his progress. The reaper refuses to meet his eyes, saying instead, "Try to run. Please."

Ignoring his words, Raoul turns back to her to ask, "You are the one who did that to Erik?" Anger at the thought of Erik's injury gives him enough energy to let him struggle to his feet.

She tilts her head and grins. "You do not remember?" She surprises him by laughing and when she is done, there are tears at the corners of her eyes that she wipes away. "Oh, of course he would erase your memory. It would have given you nightmares for years, scarring you for life."

Erik's muttering increases behind him, but Raoul is more interested in getting answers from her. "What are you talking about?"

"He looks like that because of you." She adds, looking pleased at the thought, "And because of me of course. There was a slight disagreement between us when you were but a child."

Raoul tries to remember a time when Erik did not have the deformity on this face and simply cannot think of any.

Musing, she says to herself, "A declamation perhaps? You _have_ broken rule after rule for this one, haven't you?"

Then, her eyes focus solely on Raoul, scrutinizing him, trying to see what is special about him. When she reaches out, he stands his ground only because he knows she is still wearing her glove but also because he cannot imagine stepping away to allow her to harm Erik. He flinches when her hand lands on his chest, but nothing happens besides the chains behind him clanking loudly as Erik jerks against them.

"Move, Raoul," Erik warns right before Raoul sees her lips moving and pain suddenly blooms from where her hand is pressed. His heart stutters and all the air within his lungs seems to vanish and every ache and hurt that he has felt in the past month bears down on him all at once. He does not even know when he drops to his knees but he feels the fall, and that pain multiplies and spreads. His ears are ringing and he can hardly see because black spots impede his vision. He is forced to look up when a hand grabs his chin and he distantly hears Erik screaming once more. He manages to see the woman smirking at him before she kicks him aside to get to Erik, who has not relented in his thrashing against the manacles in an attempt to get to him.

Erik is so focused on screaming at Raoul that it is Raoul who sees her pull a bone from within the folds of her clothes. It looks like the bones of a finger but her glove is still on and he cannot seem to reconcile those two facts. The only clear thing is what she intends to do with it.

Through the pain, through the ringing in his ears and the fact that he has yet to take in a badly needed breath of air, he makes his limbs listen to him.

An all-too-familiar mantra floods his thoughts. _Do not leave me. Do not go. Do not die._

Erik cannot die.

Raoul uses what last bit of energy he has to throw himself at her. It is an easy decision to make, one of the easiest he has made since he was eighteen and thought he could find happiness anywhere but at home. His lunge to her is sloppy and he barely manages to grab onto the front of her dress, but once his hands find purchase, he clings on even as he feels them falling over. The way Erik is screaming like a wounded animal convinces Raoul that the other reaper was not lying earlier. His soul is going to be ripped from his body by this strange reaper and the contract that he has long since thought tied him to Erik is nothing more than a mere story. He has little time to process more than that.

But as they hit the floor and he feels the bone within her hand pressing against his chest, his only thought is to regret the fact that Erik is the only one he has not said goodbye to.

o.o.o

Raoul wakes in a bed to the fragrant smell of hot soup. There is an actual bed beneath him along with a goose-feather comforter covering him and a white-curtain canopy above his head. He immediately wonders if he has died, but the pain in his body tells him otherwise.

The bed dips to his right and he turns to see a familiar jacket, the set of the man's shoulders, the gloved hand that he takes within his own without hesitation even though he is unsure if his touch is welcome. It is more important to assure himself that he is here. It is more important to learn what has occurred.

"Why aren't I dead?" he croaks out.

Instead of answering, Erik releases his hand and leaves him only to return with a glass of water, which Raoul eagerly drinks, spilling most of it in the process since he refuses to do much more than lean forward. He does not care because he is ready to press Erik for more information when the glass is empty.

"The contract," Erik explains before Raoul can ask again. When he then takes the glass away and leaves his side once more, Raoul begins to wonder why Erik had chosen to sit on the bed in the first place if he cannot stand to be in such close proximity to him.

It takes a long moment before he realizes that is all the explanation he will get. Erik stays across the room, avoiding his gaze, and the distance hurts more than Raoul expected it to. He tears his gaze away from him to inspect the room. It is rather large with a table in the corner and a large fireplace, and Raoul wonders how exactly Erik managed to move him from the ship to this lodging, how he paid for it. He knows he is stalling, falling upon old habits when it comes to interacting with Erik because he would rather think of trivialities than speak with him. Swallowing with effort, he decides to start with facts, with figuring out how he is still alive when Erik had seemed certain he was going to die.

"Before, with the other… I should be…" He does not even know how to explain what has happened on that ship. "You thought that I was going to -"

"Before," Erik finally looks at him as he cuts him off from saying that one word that ties them together. "I dealt with her and you never need to worry about her again." He frowns, gaze flitting across the room, not focusing on anything in particular before settling once more on Raoul. "Those types of deals, contracts… they…"

He stops and looks relieved but still pained at the thought of what could have happened, pained enough that Raoul comes to his own conclusions. "You were unwilling to put my life to the test."

"There were rumours, stories about other reapers who have made contracts with humans," Erik admits, "but none of them have ever truly been confirmed. To bind, to be bound to someone…" he lets the words hang between them, and Raoul can hear his awe despite the fact that Erik looks as stern as ever. He wonders at the reaper's phrasing and rather appreciates it. He has never thought of the contract as truly binding Erik to him, but he finds he likes it, likes the fact that they are bound to each other, that he is not so much as chained as they both are.

Erik refuses to look at him again and a silence falls upon them.

There is so much more that he needs to know and things he does not know if he wants to ask. From what Erik has implied, he is certain that the other reaper is dead. There is no way that Erik would have let her live a second time, and there is a story there about his past that he would like to question. There are so many answers he wants to force Erik to give him now that they are speaking, but he knows that means he must give answers of his own.

Grabbing the comforter to himself, Raoul realizes through the tumult within himself, that he finally feels warm. He still hurts, but he is warm and it feels like he can finally think clearly again. Here they are, both of them safe, finally talking and he knows immediately he has been a fool. Erik almost died. He can hear his voice saying, _You are killing yourself_ , and only now realizes the terror Erik must have felt in the past months, terror that Raoul now understands.

"I wanted to die." His voice sounds loud in the silence and he wishes he had started with anything but that statement. They both know what he has been trying to do. He adds quickly when he finds Erik looking at him oddly, "I –" He squeezes his eyes shut and takes in a deep breath before continuing, "I did not want to see anyone else die. I do not know how I could survive it. I barely survived Philippe's and even that has yet to be determined, but seeing him go, losing him was too much." The words come quickly and they hardly make sense to him. He is certain he is not explaining himself well, not certain he even knows why he could not see beyond Philippe's death when all his brother had wanted for him was to live and be happy. All he knows is that there is so much he could never say that needs spoken. He stares at his hands as they clutch the blankets. "I could not imagine outliving my sisters or anyone else. And it was easy to remember Philippe's death, wallow in his loss, in what could have been. It was easy to have you close even when I did not want anyone else in fear that it would only hurt when I left. Like _I_ hurt. I… And I was alone and you…" He looks up to see that Erik has crossed the room to stand uncertainly beside him, hands itching to touch him. "But you, you came more and more and I think I thought to myself, 'I may yet live alone, but at least… at least, I will not die alone.' And," he finished softly, "it seemed like a good way to not be alone anymore."

There is more to be said but Erik grabs him, roughly pulls him close even as he tries to gently wipe tears that Raoul does not know have fallen. And it is not easy to relax into his embrace. It feels foreign and Raoul knows he is holding back but does not know what to do about it. He does not feel like crying anymore, thinks he has cried more than enough in his lifetime. Instead, he tries to let the hurt go because even though he does not blame Erik for the deaths of his parents and brother, he cannot help but blame himself for the lives they could have lived if they had not worried about the contract. He blames his life for the pain and suffering of those dearest to him.

Holding onto Erik even closer, he knows he should not think that way. Philippe would be furious with him; Erik, too, for that matter if he knew. Raoul wants to hold onto the kernel buried somewhere within himself that was certain he could be happy. His brother wanted him to be; he believed he could be. Raoul just does not know how to begin.

"You will never be alone," Erik hoarsely whispers into his ear and Raoul is not sure if he is supposed to hear the statement at all. It sounds like Erik is promising to himself, swearing it aloud. The hand on Raoul's neck pulls him closer, tucking him against the crook of his neck while his other hand is on his back and it slowly feels like being anchored, like finding ground upon which to stand because he can breathe again. He grows more aware of the warmth, the solidness of Erik's presence, and the tightness within his chest loosening.

Raoul is twenty-one and he finally knows where to start to be happy once more.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 06

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: Argh, I hate this chapter. With a vengeance. No more angst for me. Fluff. I demand fluff!

Oo, there's some complex backstory in my head about reapers and what they're able to do. Also, what do you know, I could have killed Erik off, but I didn't. Thinking about it, I only kill four characters off in this story and three of them are canonical.

Also, I kind of love how we are able to glimpse how some of the dramatic!Raoul we saw of him as a child managed to carry through to his adulthood.


	7. This is Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fic about death – there’s actually only one more death in this fic that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is what happens when you make a 5+1 story into something more. It takes forever to write and you get fluff chapters. That's not a completely horrible thing, right?
> 
> Story note: Look, it got updated. Weird. Thanks for everyone who's still reading. But really. Fluff-ish. You know I can't help with the angst though.

o.o.o.o

Raoul is twenty-four when he finally finds a house he wants to call home.

The past three years have been a whirlwind of cities and villages, of carriages and boats, of taverns and restaurants. The consensus amongst his peers is that he died on that journey to the North. There is no body to be found, but his shipmates had not been blind to his growing illness. It takes little convincing for them to believe that the sea has finally claimed him as it does all sailors.

The rumour is one that Raoul does not mind allowing to perpetuate. His sisters and their families know otherwise and Raoul finds he enjoys the anonymity that accompanies one's untimely death. He truly wishes that the Raoul of then, the one who had run from his family, from those who matter most to him, has died because he never wants to continue down that path again. He feels so very changed.

Still, it takes him the three years to exhaust the need to keep moving, to exhaust every new persona he assumes. It takes three years to find out exactly who Raoul wants to be. He cannot deny that sometimes during his travels, it feels as though he is still running, trying to outrun his fate, his feelings, his fear.

It is a slow process realizing that the fear will probably always be there. The certainty of death and its presence in his life is unavoidable; yet, he has never truly accepted the accompanying loss. He has long since mistaken movement as acceptance of those who have gone before him. He knows better now. Leaving behind a mausoleum does not remove the bones that lay within it.

The difference in his travels this time is that Erik is with him every step, and Raoul honestly would not want it any other way. They rediscover one another or, at least, Raoul believes is he learning to understand Erik once again. The familiarity between them feels less like a lie now because he knows that the tense line of Erik's shoulders is when he has been forced to take a life too soon or that the strength of his grasp is when Raoul does something particularly dangerous in the reaper's mind. It is a chastisement in its own way, but Erik, as much as Raoul now knows he wants to, does not tell him how to live his life. Lately, Raoul has had to fight his own urges to keep Erik from danger, to keep him safe, but they each have their own lives to pursue.

Erik disappears often enough when duty calls him away, and Raoul learns to live with the worry of his absence. He learns how to enjoy his own company, to make fast friends, to swap tales and share drinks. He stays in a town for a day, maybe more, picking up odd jobs, new skills, and using old skills he never really thought could be called an occupation. He finds that pretty words can sway anyone to buy wares or that the ache of laboring through the day is still not enough to take a smile off his face. He often makes enough to survive and when he cannot, Erik always has funds so he need not starve. Raoul asks, but Erik never says where the money comes from and most days he is content not to know. Whenever he does think about it, he imagines coins upon unseeing eyes and wonders if he should ever allow Erik to support him. Instead, he works harder to make sure he never needs anything.

He thinks he is changing with every new experience, with every new encounter, and he finds he likes who he is. He finds running is acceptable when it feels as though he is running headlong into something important. So, when he finds a job where the man wants to keep him on for longer than a couple of days, it does not take much else to convince him to finally stop. He takes his time familiarizing himself with the area and finds land just outside the small town where the old man lives. The cottage built there is secluded, near the sea but also near enough to the town that it takes only a half hour's walk to see another human if the urge ever arises.

He decides his life should be lived on the coast of Southern France as nothing but a hired hand on a small fishing boat. Somehow, he knows that Philippe is proud. He finds he is a great navigator with an uncanny ability to sense when storms will be too rough. He feels it in his bones, as though they remember the tossing of waves, the slight changes of weather. He remembers, cannot forget, the pressure that makes his chest and throat ache as a warning. He is a sailor once more, but there are no hammocks, no grog, and no night watch. There is a bed to lay his head upon and land beneath his feet. This place is not Chagny and it is far from his family, but a part of him has already settled here.

He now need only tell the reaper of his plans. He is forced to wait because Erik is gone a week and he worries not only about how his plans will be received but also for the reaper's well-being. His mind immediately expects the worst to have happened, but he is able to stifle the urge to call him. The reaper will come no matter when he calls, but Raoul always feels foolish afterwards for having taken him away from his duty. It matters little if Erik is present because that urge to call him does not abate. It is simply replaced by the urge to ask him to never leave, and Raoul cannot say those words without revealing too much.

He is embarrassed to admit that as much as he has thought about Erik, it has taken him months and years before he understands that what he feels for the reaper is more than friendship or admiration. He does not know if the cause of this affection is the constancy or the comfort of his presence, but Raoul does know that he loves him. It is a thought that should frighten him, but as with all things, he understands now that the fear is normal. This love is not even new. Raoul is certain he has always loved Erik.

Still, there are certainly several months after this revelation that Raoul tenses whenever he sees him, not quite knowing how to act with this knowledge. He sees Erik differently somehow. His handsomeness is no longer simply fact; it is something to gaze upon. His warmth pressed against his side gives more than comfort; it makes his stomach uneasy, as does any look he spares Raoul now. The sound of his voice is enough to make him smile, and he wonders if Erik sees the adoration in his eyes, if he gives himself away without meaning to.

He knows reciprocation is a useless dream; a reaper and the human whose soul he owns is no love story. Erik has had centuries of existence, of experience; there is little that Raoul could ever offer him. Only after resigning himself to this unrequited love is he able to act as he always has around him. He finds that he does not mind loving Erik as much as he does because loving him is enough, being able to is enough. Erik need not return his feelings because his own love feels so full, overflowing even, that it is easier to love in secret. The reaper need only continue being there for him, and Raoul will accept whatever he is given.

There are moments though, moments when he cannot help but hope a shred of his affection is returned. Hope, he finds, is much like fire, an unforgiving, uncontrollable creature.

When Erik finally appears, Raoul is trying to clear some brush from the edge of his property. The moment he realizes he is no longer alone, he freezes and just stares at him. It is as though a pressure is released from his chest and he can breathe deeply once more. His face feels warm under Erik's gaze and his body wants to move in a hundred different directions and yet somehow all towards Erik. His heart leaps as it always does after an absence because it is a relief and a joy to see the reaper again, his steady gaze, impeccable suit, and the wound on his face, even if a mere hour is spent apart.

He cannot stop the grin from showing even though it is a little shaky, and he realizes with creeping dread that he cannot remember how he usually greets him. He had planned to ease into this conversation; however, despite having practiced the words in his head all week, he suddenly does not know how to tell Erik his travels have reached their end nor does he know how to explain what he wants for them.

He wants Erik to call this place his home as well, but Raoul does not want to be too presumptuous. Certainly, the reaper has been by his side since Philippe's death but Raoul thinks Erik is still afraid that he will seek out his own death again. He does not doubt that the older man will visit as often as he can, but it is less about his presence and more about the implications he wants to convey by asking Erik to call this place his home, the unspoken notion that Raoul could be homefor him.

He does not have the chance to say anything first because Erik asks him directly, "Are you staying?"

Raoul shrugs in a manner he hopes is nonchalant, trying to calm his racing heart enough so that he can speak. The two-story cottage is nothing special: stone and wood with vines climbing up three of its walls. Its disrepair and prolonged vacancy are obvious. There is enough space to start a garden in the front yard and the fence around the property is in desperate need of repair. He feels apologetic on behalf of it all.

"Yes," he chokes out. He has already fallen in love with the place. He loves the quiet that is never true silence; there is so much life around him, birds singing in the mornings and the leaves rustling with the wind. The seas are different, too, the waves calmer even when they roil. "I have decided to be a fisherman," and he is pleased when the words come out steadily enough.

"And you have thought about this." There is no judgment in his eyes or in his voice as he takes the time to truly scrutinize their surroundings, and Raoul watches him intently to see any reaction, to see approval or disapproval. He does not know what he will do if Erik does not like this place. The thought had not crossed his mind; he had been more worried about asking him to stay.

Disappointed when he can decipher no emotion, Raoul turns away to look at the embrace of trees surrounding them, isolating them from prying eyes. He wonders what Erik sees. Does he see the opportunity to start a new, happier life like Raoul does?

"It is what I want. This…" He gestures vaguely, wishing he could tell Erik how he already feels like he belongs here even when the cottage remains empty of any personal items. "I am home."

"You have already bought it," Erik states.

His short replies and flat tone test the already tenuous control Raoul has on his emotions and the question is out before he can stop himself, "Do you not approve?" He is desperate to know, and turning to look at the reaper, he does not care that he should not show how invested he is in Erik's opinion. He forgets himself, stating plainly, "It is our home."

Raoul wishes he can take the words back because they finally cause the reaper to react. Erik pauses and looks pained. The expression is so quick to transform his features that Raoul wonders how he will live with the impending rejection.

"Who is she?" Erik asks and Raoul tries to hide his flinch because those had not been the words he had been expecting.

He grabs onto the fence beside him to steady himself and the entire row shudders under his touch. He takes a deep breath before asking, "Who is who?"

"The woman you have fallen for here," Erik replies brusquely. He turns and walks further under the eaves of the tree Raoul believes would be perfect with a bench beneath it. He has often imagined them sitting there. "The woman for whom you have chosen this town to settle."

Raoul follows him when he feels steady enough, ducking his head beneath a bough. When he finally understands Erik's meaning, he almost laughs. "There is no such woman." The words come out as a scoff instead. He finds the idea ludicrous, as though he has any love to spare for another after Erik has consumed him entirely. So focused on the humour he finds in Erik's query, he fails to notice that the reaper is still very tense.

Through clenched teeth, Erik prompts, "You said 'our.'"

"Yes," Raoul admits as he ducks his head. He finds one of the branches nearby fascinating as he mumbles, "Our. Yours... and mine."

The word 'mine' is barely released from his lips when the reaper disappears.

Erik's departures are rarely accompanied by any fanfare, just a slip and a whisper into nothing, but even this is quite abrupt. Erik usually bids goodbye, perhaps with a parting touch. There is none of that now. One second Raoul is very nearly admitting his feelings for him and the next he is gone.

Raoul can do nothing but stare up into the tree through the leaves into the afternoon sky and extinguish that traitorous fire of hope with a deep exhale.

o.o.o

Erik is gone for another week after that and Raoul is left wondering what he can do to remedy this rift between them. He worries that he may well never see the reaper again but realizes that would be difficult. The contract binds them together and their paths will inevitably cross. Raoul simply hopes he will see Erik before that time comes. He has spent the slow hours trying to lose himself in his work, work on the boat and work on his cottage, but even as he manages to not think of Erik's rejection, his thoughts continue to be consumed with a conversation had much long ago, of first loves and he wishes he could remember if the reaper has ever hinted at the mystery person's name.

When Erik finally does return, it is in the middle of the night and though he is silent, though the bed shifts only slightly as he sits to watch him sleep, Raoul wakes.

"Where have you been?" he whispers, voice rough and thick with sleep. He shifts, turning on his side to face Erik, and even half asleep he feels so relieved to see him again that his chest aches with the emotion.

"To speak with some acquaintances," Erik whispers in return, a gloved hand threading its way through Raoul's hair. His voice is purposely calming and Raoul fights the urge to curl up against him and go back to sleep under its thrall. Erik rarely uses that tone of voice with him and that errant thought sends a spike of fear through his system.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows takes effort, but Raoul wakes faster than normal as his eyes dart about the room. "Is something wrong? Is she back?" He does not need to say who she is.

Erik shakes his head but does not elaborate. "Everything is fine. I did not mean to worry you." He cups Raoul's cheek, hoping to calm the wild fear so clear in his eyes. "We are safe. I would never let anything happen to you." He tries not to smile when Raoul leans into his touch and is relieved when coaxing the young man to lie back down is considerably easier. "I simply did not mean to disturb your slumber."

Raoul stares at him, taking in every nuance of his expression and posture before nodding slowly. He sees that the reaper is unsure about something but is unwilling to share its source. Raoul has never been successful in making Erik tell him his secrets so he gives into the urge to curl around him instead and let his mind wander. He is too awake to fall back asleep, and being able to be this close to Erik after their last encounter, Raoul does not want to waste any second asleep. Taking courage from the familiarity and the warmth, he says, "May I ask you a question?"

Nodding, Erik gazes down at him and reaching down, sweeps the hair from his face.

"Your first love," he starts haltingly, knowing this is folly before he even begins, but he has to know now. "Have you… have you loved anyone since then?"

Erik frowns and he looks at Raoul in confusion, seemingly frozen by his query.

Raoul grabs his hand then, afraid he will disappear before answering him. "Well?"

His answer is slow and deliberate. "I do not think I could possibly love another." His gaze is elsewhere and Raoul is glad for it since he grimaces.

He has always assumed Erik could never love him in return, but to hear it so plainly stated is more devastating than he can ever have imagined. He had decided in the past few days that if he cannot have Erik's heart, then maybe he can have everything else even if that 'everything else' is simply knowledge. He wants to keep the knowledge of the reaper and the centuries of experiences of individuals come and gone, the knowledge of Erik for himself. He selfishly wants to be the only one who has known him so well. Raoul has the advantage of having known him his entire life, but all his answers only raise more questions and he wonders how he could ever possibly understand a being who has lived so many lifetimes when he has barely lived four and twenty years. This, too, is one answer Raoul is quickly realizing he may not want to know.

"You still think of her?" Erik asks.

It takes a moment to come back from the downward spiral of his thoughts before Raoul can even comprehend the words and by then, Erik continues.

"She is alive and well. In Paris."

"Paris?" Raoul repeats blankly. "Christine? Oh, no. I-" he shrugs. "I am asking about you. Christine and I. We." He does not know what to say because his last memory of her is at Philippe's funeral. Her tears had been genuine, but he is certain now as he had been then that she saw a different casket being sealed in a different mausoleum. He had not tried to comfort her; he'd had no other thought then but for Philippe.

"She is but a memory, but the one you love," he says and he does not know why he cannot stop pressing the issue.

"There has only ever been the one," Erik vaguely replies and Raoul finally releases his hand.

His own hands are shaking too obviously. "Oh." Raoul buries his face into the pillow and he wants to shrug off Erik's touch when he places it on his head to idly run his fingers through Raoul's hair, but he cannot. He could never refuse a kind touch from the reaper. His touches have only ever been kind.

His thoughts jump and he wonders if Erik's love was the other reaper. That idea is immediately discarded, but it does plant the suggestion in his head.

"A reaper?" he asks more to himself than Erik but the words are heard regardless.

Erik shakes his head. "No."

Human then and Raoul thinks that is worse. He curls tighter in on himself, but that only brings him closer to Erik and he does not know what to do when the only comfort he has now is the source of his misery. He could turn away, but Erik would wonder why. The reaper would not understand and Raoul knows it is not his fault. But, it is so much worse knowing this, knowing that he had been born too late or early or perhaps not even that. Maybe he has just never been enough, never been what Erik has wanted. That cruel hope seems to gnaw at his heart, punishing him for ever thinking otherwise.

And Raoul betrays himself again because he has come this far and he needs to know, the words clawing themselves from him before he can think twice about asking, "Did you have to take them?"

Erik is silent for a moment, considering his answer, and Raoul contemplates pulling his face away from the pillow to look at Erik's expression because of all the questions to falter once more on, why this one? He does not move, thinking it safer for him to keep his own expression hidden, lest the reaper realize the effect of his words.

"I will."

And Erik's disappearances hurt more because maybe it is not to reap souls but to see this other person, to watch them from a distance and pine because Erik cannot have her. Raoul takes in a shuddering breath and knows Erik has heard it when the hand upon his head stops its motion.

"Raoul…?" Erik leans over him, body turned and Raoul can hear the concern in his voice subtle but so very present.

He regrets asking anything, regrets needing to know and finally gathers his wits about him to know that he cannot continue this line of conversation. He ignores the tightness in his throat and the pain in his chest. Turning his head ever so slightly, he forces himself to speak evenly, "You did not stay long previously. Would you like a tour?" He pushes himself up onto his hands, purposefully looking down so that his hair falls to block his face. Erik's hand slides to the nape of his neck and Raoul shivers but does not let that stop him. "I do not own a boat yet, but it is unnecessary as of now. The old man I work for thinks me to be as a son." He laughs and it sounds hollow even to him. He peers down at the pillow and how his hands have crushed it beneath him. "He has a son though, but one ill-suited for the sea. He becomes ill just at the thought of the waves." He tells himself to say anything, say anything so that he does not have to respond to the knowledge that Erik leaves him to visit his love. "I feel for the boy. Truly, but…"

Erik reaches over with his other hand and tries to turn Raoul to look at him. His touch is gentle enough to stop his rambling, but it takes long moments before Raoul thinks himself composed enough to face him. When he does, he is surprised by the purposefully open concern and he wants to apologize for making Erik worry so unnecessarily for him.

"I have," Erik's jaw tenses a moment before he continues, "arranged a change of territories."

The statement is so apropos to nothing that Raoul only stares at him.

He elucidates, "To here."

"Can you do that?" Raoul asks, forgetting to be worried about their conversation because something must have happened for this change to occur. "Why? Are there problems in Chagny? Are you in trouble?"

He responds quickly before Raoul can ask another question, "Chagny has held very little for me these past years."

Erik's lips quirk into a faint smile and Raoul does not see it because their faces are so very close and Erik's hands, though gloved, are warm on his cheeks. He does not know when that happened or why it feels like the most natural thing in the world, but he does not care. He only thinks distantly to himself that hope is a very cruel thing.

They are caught in each other's gaze when Erik states.

"This is home."

And that phrase is enough kindling to bring Raoul's reckless ember of hope to flame, and he prays that Erik will forgive him for saying words that will send them spiraling forward once more into the unknown.

Raoul is twenty-four and he makes his first – but not last – declaration of love to his reaper.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 07

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: This took forever to write. I'm out of practice so hard. Also, as a note, you can of course stop here because that sort of ties everything up. Not everyone dies and honestly, only one other person is going to die in this story and you obviously know who it's going to be.

Also, Erik's so oblivious to Raoul's turmoil… well, mostly oblivious to it. He obviously doesn't understand its source or else he would have fixed that little mix up a long time ago, but it's not as though he doesn't have his own reasons to worry about his feelings towards Raoul. He is a creature that pretty much takes people's souls. And how does he accept what Raoul's offering without seeming like he's always wanted to stay by Raoul's side? Not to mention that Raoul never actually offered in so many words. I'm rambling now. Sorry. It's been a while.


	8. The Willing Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story is coming to a close and all these little details need to come out. (In case you were curious, I’m pretty sure there are a total of 10 chapters. Unless something suddenly happens to this plotbunny.) 
> 
> Story note: I don’t think you understand just how mad I am at this chapter for being this long. It started out at like 960 words. Sorry for editing errors, but really, Wtf? I thought it would be a quick edit and now I have no weekend. (It also took me away from the huge r.obot rewrite that has become necessary)

o.o.o.o

Raoul is thirty-two when he purchases his own fishing boat.

He has, perhaps, been too complacent working for someone else, too comfortable supporting the captain he looks up to as a mentor if not a father figure. The camaraderie between them is easy after so many years that it is difficult imagining going out to sea without the old man by his side. Their synchronicity is something that Raoul revels in. The fisherman is old enough not to need to fill the silence with words and Raoul has had his fill of empty niceties. The expectations placed on him are clear: make sure the boat does not sink and bring in fish. He has long sought after such simplicity; it is uncomplicated and yet fulfilling, unlike most things in his life.

Once, he had thought it was routine that had left him dissatisfied, that he had needed to actively search for happiness by leaving the familiar behind, but it is quite the opposite that gives him peace now. It is performing the same actions, seeing the same faces and same places that have wrought this change, and he knows this new development between him and Erik has been a crucial part of it all. How can he look towards tomorrow and not be excited at the prospect of knowing what lay in wait for him: the boat, his home, Erik?

It is only a matter of time though before a morning comes when Raoul goes to meet the old man at the dock and Erik is there as well, two worlds that he had so far successfully kept separate colliding.

Much has changed between him and his reaper, but a few things have remained the same. His heart still leaps when he sees Erik; although when they are not in the privacy of their own home, it is always a mixture of joy and fear. They make the barest of eye contact before Erik is gone. It is a warning, a courtesy to him even though the reaper rarely attempts to explain himself, at least not in so many words. He need not try because Raoul finds he already understands. He knows the other man prefers to separate his existence as a reaper from Raoul’s life, though impossible it may be. Still, he is glad for such consideration.

Even though his presence is a surprise, it does little to change the words he has been planning to tell his captain.

The ache in his chest is a dull throb, persistent in a way that foretells something more than simple choppy seas and a rough storm. The winds have already picked up and the skies are gray, the clouds heavy with water that wish to plunge from the heavens. There is a spattering of other boats that have decided to go out into such weather, but Raoul knows many more of them have decided to wait it out.

_In the name of all who have sailed aboard this ship in the past, and in the name of all who may sail aboard her in the future, we invoke the ancient gods of the wind and the sea to favor us with their blessing today._

Raoul glances at the sky pointedly. “The land is calling us today.”

The old man only shakes his head, clearing eyes that had glazed over for a brief moment and Raoul wonders if he has seen Erik, if he knows.

“My boy, you need to learn how to live a little.”He laughs and it is a thing unfettered by fear. “The _sea_ is calling me.”

Raoul doubts he has ever heard him say a truer statement.

He hesitates to acquiesce so easily though, wondering if words exist that would make the old man think otherwise. Glancing over at his captain’s grin, he knows such words do not and decides it would only dishonor him as a sailor to try to convince him otherwise. Unlike those more unfortunate than he, the fisherman is able to decide where he will die and the stubborn fool has already chosen. Raoul cannot help but smile at the thought, knowing the need to lose oneself in the swell and dip of the sea. He understands what it is like to feel more yourself with a battery of wind and spray in one’s face than when constrained to land. More significantly, he understands that perhaps the sea is truly calling the old man and remembers a time when it had called to him.

Loading the gear onto the boat is a mundane activity that feels new once more; each action is scrutinized. He looks over their equipment to make sure it is in good condition despite knowing that Erik is never wrong with his timing. Still, he cannot help but search for any imperfection, for any indication that what will come to pass is caused by an accident. There is nothing he finds out of the ordinary.

They pull anchor to the fisherman’s laugh, a taunt to the heavens that leads them out. Raoul has never seen him happier, has never seen him as happy as he is than when he is behind the helm.

_Mighty Neptune, king of all that moves in or on the waves; the mighty Aeolus, guardian of the winds and all that blows before them we offer you our thanks for the protection you have afforded this vessel in the past. We voice our gratitude that she has always found shelter from tempest and storm and enjoyed safe passage to port._

He tells the fisherman’s son of such happiness later in the afternoon as he stands on their doorstep soaked to the skin with both sea and storm. There is a tear in his shirt where it had gotten caught on a splintered railing. He holds it closed for propriety’s sake with hands that are burned and bleeding, tiny fibers of their rigging imbedded in his skin from his struggle. He knows he looks a sight, stumbling his way to the house and he imagines people wondering how he managed to make it back on land. Luck, he supposes, or it was simply not his time to die.

This is a conversation he would have rather avoided given the opportunity though. It brings to surface memories that linger far longer than he knows is healthy, of a heartbeat he can still hear with such clarity if he so chooses. He sees himself reflected in the young man’s sorrow, remembers the heavy drag upon one’s soul tugging persistently until there is little else one can do but stop resisting.

He is invited in from the waning storm and into their home, a home built for three that has been reduced to two, the fisherman’s son and the son’s wife. Not wanting to sit though his legs do tremble, he lingers by the mantle, trying to warm himself and not drip water on too much of anything, knowing he is doing a poor job of it. Distracting himself with the portraits, he spots an old one of the fisherman and his wife when they were young and he wonders if they are together now in whatever lies after this life.

The son is quiet, in shock still even as his young wife clings to his arm whispering words of comfort. The way they cling to each other, the way the son turns towards his wife instead of away assures him that they will survive this tragedy. Raoul almost smiles at the sight and imagines his fingers entwined with Erik’s to give him strength, giving comfort to pull him out of his own sadness.

Erik is absent from this meeting and Raoul is glad for it. He knows it is silly, but death is such a fearful thing and he would prefer to protect the reaper from any possible accusation of his part in it. Erik is unaffected by the anger and hatred that is so often turned toward him during others’ sufferings, but it is always a difficult thing for Raoul to refrain from defending him.

He searches for the right thing to say even though he knows there is never such a thing in sorrow. Every word not one of denial is wrong, but he knows the son will want to know what happened. He simply does not know where to start.

“He was at the helm trying to bring us home,” Raoul says and the young couple turn their attention to him, almost as though they have forgotten that he is present. The fisherman’s son is several years younger than he is. His hair is the same dark brown of his father’s. They share the same nose and stature. The man’s wife is a pretty thing, petite but he knows that belies the spirit in her if the stories he have heard are true. Matching streaks of tears run down both their faces.

He feels so much older in this moment, tired in a way he has not felt since Philippe’s death. She offers to bring him tea, but Raoul waves her off. He realizes that he has never really spoken to either of them in all the years that he has been acquainted with their father. Raoul had always declined the invitations, too excited with the prospect of having time for just Erik and himself. However, with all the stories that had been shared, he still feels as though he knows them.

“He was shouting obscenities at the thunder.” He smiles the slightest bit at the memory.

That garners a broken laugh from the son and his wife clings tighter to him.

He is back on that boat then and hears fragments of laughter and the deep voice of the fisherman. He imagines the old man shaking his fist to the heavens even though at the moment, Raoul can only focus on tying the rigging around himself painfully tight to secure himself to the boat. The fisherman is at the helm already having done the same. The man’s voice is coarse from shouting what Raoul had originally thought were orders, but as he persists, he assumes they are words not specifically for him. Regardless, the thunder and the water that slams him to the railing of the boat time and time again, like waves upon a shore trying to drag him out to sea, make hearing nearly impossible.

The boat shudders and creaks. Between the waves that are too tall and the water that is streaming from the skies, he knows not which will drown them first. He can hardly see beyond a meter from his face save for the brief moments of lightning that captures frightening single portraits of clarity: rain suspended in the air; the sails coming loose from the winds; the wave that looms over their heads. Then, just as quickly, they are submerged into the cacophony of darkness and sound as thunder is quick to respond, canon fire that Raoul feels in his bones even when he is immersed by the next wave. Lashed by rain and beaten by waves, foamy fingers search for purchase on the deck, on their bodies, on anything to pull them deep into the insidious, deathly calm meters beneath the surface of the storm. The vessel tilts near completely on its side and Raoul fears they will overturn, but with a jerk, the boat is flung upright as he is similarly flung across the deck.

His hands slip on the rigging as he tries to drag himself to the mainmast, desperate to get closer to the helm because he knows Erik must be near. From where he is, he has no hope of seeing either the reaper or his captain. He slips and trips, claws his way to the mast and finally catches a glimpse of the fisherman. He can do nothing more than cling as the next wave floods through them, brutally rocking them in rebuke for daring to be present during such a storm.

Through the sheets of rain and in the crack of lightning that splits the sky, he sees them, the fisherman and Erik, a single portrait of frightening clarity: rain suspended in the air; his captain lashed to the helm though limp in the rigging’s embrace; Erik holding him steady against the next wave with hands ungloved, luminescent white bones.

Raoul is quickly thrust into the darkness and motion once more, and a crack, not one from the sky, makes him cling tighter to the mast. He thinks it will topple but it is a boom that falls and sweeps across the deck with the next wave. By the time it is safe enough to move once more, by the time the next lightning clears the sky, there is no captain, no body. It feels like hours before he makes it to the helm, before he can search for any rope to drag back onto the boat, pulling and pulling though his arms tire, his shoulders cramp, his hands bleed, and he slides almost uselessly on the deck.

Nothing is attached to any line. No one. Nobody.

When the storm quiets enough, he is able to enlist the help of other boats who have been trying to recuperate from their own losses. In hours of searching, there is little in the wreckage that can be salvaged.

_Now, wherefore, we submit this supplication, that the name whereby this vessel has hitherto been known, be struck and removed from your records._

He stares at his hands, red and raw, blood sluggishly welling up and he grips his tattered shirt once more.

He tells as much as he can, explains how the boat breaks down just as the old man’s body does, but while the vessel makes it to shore carrying in it a half-drowned Raoul, his father has been swept beneath towering waves furiously crashing down upon itself.

The son tries to run out of the house, perhaps to search for him himself, but his wife is quick to stop him. Raoul turns away as the young man falls to his knees and curses his father for his stubbornness, curses his profession and his boat as tears fall unchecked. His voice cracks and Raoul shuts his eyes but in the darkness of his own mind, it is worse. The young woman is hugging her husband, covering him as though to shelter him from his own grief. She gives Raoul a shaky smile and mutters out a thank you.

Raoul almost apologizes then; however, he knows it to be the worst kind of solace. Instead, in a sudden moment of inspiration, he insists on purchasing what is left of the boat to keep it alive. The thing hardly floats anymore, but Raoul does not know any other way to give his condolences. He knows the heavy costs a funeral incurs and knows the burden will be too great for the young couple to take alone. He only realizes afterwards that his words may have been insensitive when silence is the only response he receives for a long moment. The son looks up at him in consideration, searches his face.

“You said it barely brought you back to shore,” he says finally as he gets to his feet once more. His voice is steady, his arm secure around his wife’s shoulders.

“Barely.” Raoul shrugs. “But it did.”

Although he is given a tight-lipped smile in return, it is easy to see the son is grateful and Raoul is able to do this one last thing for his captain.

The journey home is spent walking through the haze of drizzle that lingers in the aftermath of the storm. His legs barely hold him and he fights the urge to lay on the side of the road and simply sleep, sleep for days. His feet drag upon the ground and he shivers in the cold. He stumbles and already knows that he will not do more than lift his arms to break his fall, if even that, but a hand catches his shirt and jerks him upright. Erik ducks beneath his arm to steady him and places his own behind Raoul’s back for support.

“Erik,” Raoul sighs and turns fully towards him so that he can wrap both his arms around the reaper’s neck in an embrace. He nuzzles in the familiar warmth and scent before finally giving into the urge and letting his knees buckle.

Erik catches him easily, but with a harsh exhale by his ear, he says, “I cannot carry you from here, love.”

Instead of responding, Raoul hangs limply and presses a kiss to Erik’s neck since his mouth is already there, but even his arms are beginning to tire.

“Someone will see,” the reaper explains.

Raoul noses his neck and kisses it again before saying petulantly, “Let them think what they will” even though he is struggling to stand on his own two feet once more. Before he pulls out of the embrace, Erik presses his lips to his temple.

He ends up carrying most of Raoul’s weight with his arm securely wrapped behind the blond even though Raoul does his best to place one foot in front of the other. His eyes are closed, trusting Erik to keep him upright and get them safely home. It is a relief to be able to clear his mind of everything and in his utter fatigue, it is a simple thing to do. The effort it takes to keep upright needs his entire attention and there is something soothing about the mantra of left foot, right foot, repeat. He only opens his eyes when his feet are suddenly no longer on the ground and Erik lifts him up bridal style. He can barely see their fence in the distance and he thinks he would be more outraged to be in this position if it were not a relief to no longer be standing. Instead, he grips the reaper tighter in appreciation.

They are in their home and up the stairs before Raoul is placed back on unsteady feet. His clothes are pulled from his skin, over his head, down his legs and discarded as he is led from the bedroom door to the bed. Dark as it is, it is still the afternoon and he feels he should tell Erik it is too early for sleep. When he finally flops backwards onto the bed though, he cannot muster the energy to say anything.

Even though he is naked and there has been no fire lit in the hearth, he feels warmer than he has all day. Rolling and twisting, he squirms his way to the headboard to nuzzle into a pillow that smells of them both before hugging it to his chest. He kicks feebly at the covers he is still laying on top of, trying to get beneath them to escape the chill of the room that creeps up on him. When they fail to cooperate, Raoul lays bonelessly on top of them, pouting.

He is only just barely getting over the disappointment of his failure to push the blankets down when he is pulled against gloriously warm skin. Opening his eyes just enough to see that Erik has shed his own damp clothes to join him, he allows himself to be manhandled. Together, they are able to slide beneath snow white sheets and a feather comforter that insulates the warmth shared between them.

Raoul sighs in relief and is near asleep when Erik lifts the blanket, allowing some of the chill to infiltrate their cocoon. The reaper draws his gloved hands across the new bruises and wounds he has managed to amass and Raoul allows it because he does not mind the gentle touches across his skin, warming him by increments. He knows Erik was worried for him and though desperate as he was to help, had refrained.

When Erik moves to get up though, Raoul will have none of it. He clings to him then, all arms and legs pinning him to the bed. Eventually, the reaper relents and allows Raoul to shift to a comfortable position, which is essentially laying half on top of Erik in an effort to get as much of their bodies touching. He tucks his head under the older man’s chin and tries not to shiver when a drop from his still damp hair trickles down his back.

_Further, we ask that when she is again presented for blessing with another name, she shall be recognized and shall be accorded once again the selfsame privileges she previously enjoyed._

“I own a boat,” he mumbles against a smooth expanse of skin that is Erik’s chest.

It is not so uncommon a thing to be able to find rest in each other’s arms, but it is always a relief when they can. The arms holding him tighten and Raoul feels like Erik can keep both the chill and the sadness at bay.

He feels the scoff that means Erik is amused.

“The one that almost drowned you” is all he says but it is approval Raoul hears in his voice.

Gloved hands lazily stroke up and down his back, relaxing muscles he had not realized have been tense. His mind drifts to the first time he saw Erik in nothing but gloves. The circumstances had had a decidedly different air to it then: playful and passionate. He had been both amused and sobered by the gloves’ presence. All there is now is comfort, but the thought that he has had all of Erik save for that small part follows him into sleep.

o.o.o

Erik has been busy as of late.

Sometimes, Raoul wonders what keeps him away: revolutions, plagues, accidents. Though these thoughts do occur, he does not mind this separation as much as he normally would. He himself has been busy as of late as well. Renovating the old boat has monopolized both time and thought. Save for the frame and its mast, Raoul has had to replace almost everything. Moreover, since he has decided this new, old boat deserves to be renamed, there has been an abundance of extra work to ensure he is not cursed from the start. There is the denaming ceremony as well as the need to remove all physical traces of the boat’s old name in the log book, miscellaneous books and charts, anything with its name inscribed within it as is custom.

It has been long and arduous weeks, but it has been worth every second of it.

_In return for which, we rededicate this vessel to your domain in full knowledge that she shall be subject as always to the immutable laws of the gods of the wind and the sea._

The stars are still shining their brightest and the moon lends them its glow when Raoul drags Erik by the hand towards the town. It is the only way that he can assure some semblance of privacy between them, but he is so excited that he does not care what hour it is. It is difficult not to rush through the forest just to reach the little town. Even still, he cannot contain the lightness in his step nor the laugh that looses itself and echoes through the trees. At this moment, it feels as though the entire world is a paradise made especially for them. Once they reach the town limits however, Raoul grips Erik’s hand tighter before racing through the streets. He has stifled his laughter but he cannot control the mad grin on his face.

In the last few days, he has been furiously painting, rigging, and adding final touches to his vessel. Erik has sworn that he has yet to see the boat. Raoul made him promise from the very beginning that he would wait until the grand reveal. It is only because the fisherman’s son visits with a bottle of champagne does Raoul not forget that most important facet of christening a new boat. He has the bottle gripped in his free hand.

Finally, they stop several paces from the vessel and Raoul stands in front of Erik to block his view, though to little effect. Erik is kind enough to look only into his eyes.

“You seem rather pleased with yourself,” the reaper comments and Raoul smiles down at their hands, fingers twined together as they had been since they left.

He looks up only to grin wider. “When am I not pleased with myself?”

Erik concedes that fact with a slight dip of his head and an answering grin, small and nearly impossible to see unless you knew what to look for.

A gull caws in the distance and gentle waves lap against his boat. The wind is both an intimate whisper and a cool embrace. The world is calm and Raoul feels as though he is about to burst from joy. There is no reason to be this eager, but this moment feels so very profound, the cusp of something important that he does not fully understand. All he knows is that he cannot seem to catch his breath nor hide the smile from his face.

On impulse, he lifts their hands and kisses Erik’s knuckles. “It may look the same,” he admits. It is not lost on him how very symbolic it has been that he has spent the past weeks tearing a boat apart just to bring it back together with new pieces. He is sure it is not the same boat it once was, but he cannot deny that essential parts have remained the same.

“Does it float?” Erik retorts.

Raoul laughs but nods in response. He cannot help but raise the slightest bit on his toes to press his lips against Erik’s.

_In consequence, whereof, and in good faith, we seal this pact according to the hallowed ritual of the sea._

“I love you,” Erik says when he pulls away.

“I love you more,” Raoul responds and it is easy and familiar. He somehow means it more and more each day though he does not understand how when he loves Erik so fully. He allows himself another moment of staying in his space, their confessions of love still hanging heavy and warm between them.

When he steps away, he opens his arms wide and brandishing the champagne bottle towards his boat, says, “Here she is.”

Raoul is correct when he says it looks very similar to how it was before. It is simply another fishing boat, but the paint is new as well as the wood. Time and love have been spent on fixing her, and before Erik can say anything in response, Raoul drags him closer.

“This is the best part.” He gestures to the neatly painted name of his boat.

Erik tugs him back and into his arms to kiss him again. He lingers though he does not deepen the kiss as he so desires, instead presses a second kiss on his lips before kissing the corner of his mouth. It is all they should do away from the privacy of their home but it is difficult to remember that. However, Erik has had much practice with self-control, so he pulls away even though Raoul attempts to give chase to kiss him once more.  

Raoul sighs heavily but is still smiling too wide. “I name this ship _L’âme prêts_ ,” he states proudly.

Erik finishes the christening ceremony words, “And may she bring fair winds and good fortune to all who sail on her.” Before he can say another word though and before Raoul can break the bottle on the hull, he frowns, his attention drawn elsewhere and Raoul’s face falls because he knows what is to come.

“Go.” Raoul pushes him away even though he has yet to release his hand. He attempts to smile though it is a mere shadow of his previous joy. “Go and come back when you can.”

Erik is kind enough to look torn even though Raoul understands there is no choice but to leave. The disappointment has only ever been momentary. Erik always returns to him as soon as he can. He only kisses the reaper’s cheek in fear that he will linger longer than possible if he kisses him properly.

“It is beautiful,” Erik mutters, and then he is gone.

Raoul smiles ruefully at the champagne bottle in his hands before breaking it on the hull with a little more force than necessary.

The rest of the morning is easy enough. Despite the long weeks, it is still second nature as he sets about his day to go to sea. The weather is kind and the fish are plentiful. He loses himself to the familiar motions and tries not to let the obvious void on the boat depress him too badly. The silence is different now and there are moments he forgets that he is the captain of this vessel. He tries not to think too deeply about the footsteps he wants to follow because it makes him think of the man who had shown him the way. It takes little else to begin the downward spiral of remembering everyone else he has lost.

Instead, he forces himself to think of Erik and lets himself wonder if he should not hire help, someone with whom he could teach the trade and eventually with whom to leave this boat.

It is midmorning when Erik appears. Raoul is at the helm and before he can even greet him, Erik spins him around and cradles his face between his hands. He kisses him soundly, coaxing Raoul’s mouth open with his tongue and Raoul melts into the touch. His body relaxes against Erik’s as his arms wrap around his neck. He moans when Erik grabs his derriere to lift him bodily and Raoul instinctively wraps his legs around his waist to better support himself so that he can deepen the kiss, tongue stroking against Erik’s and his fingers tangling into his hair.

The boat lists suddenly and it is only Erik’s reflexes that save them from falling overboard. Raoul drops to the deck and scrambles to the helm to steady them.

He is breathless and his lips are red, slightly swollen from the force of their kisses.

“I do believe you are trying to destroy the vessel before it lasts the day.” Raoul laughs but still takes a moment to look at Erik closely, wondering if that sudden show of affection was due to whatever took him away this morning. Erik looks more disappointed than tense and Raoul motions him over, kissing him when he is within reach but making sure one hand it still on the helm.

He hums and maneuvers Erik to stand behind him. “One of us has to be responsible,” Raoul jokes. “What would you do without me?”

The reaper goes willingly, knowing that anything more will have to wait. Placing his chin on Raoul’s shoulder, he settles an arm around his waist. Erik kisses his neck and Raoul can feel the smirk he is not even trying to hide. “I would rather think of all the things I would do with you.”

As a swell lifts them up high, the spray and wind carry away the pleased laugh that is startled out of him; it feels like flying with Erik by his side. The sea is calling him, but it is Erik’s voice that leads him home.

Raoul is thirty-two and he thinks he has finally learned how to live.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 08

A/N: Don’t forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: So, other people do die and it’s not all fluff, but the ending was fluff? Head!canon for some reason is that Erik loves terms of endearments and references he thinks are damn witty (probably because of the whole ‘lying Delilah, prying Pandora’ bit in the musical). He likes being able to use ‘love’ mostly because Raoul never refutes it and it encourages Raoul to say it back to him (which Erik may or may not ever admit to love hearing).

I know the denaming ceremony (taken from: www(.)goodoldboat(.)com/reader_services/articles/naming(.)php and repurposed to my own devices.) would probably be best reading-wise to not be spread throughout the story, but I like it there.

Google translate for the ship’s name.  Honestly, I think I found the wrong ‘willing’, it’s should probably be something like L’ame volontaire, but I was already sold on the current version.  My bad. I obviously should learn French for the sake of fanfiction. ;)


	9. I Love You More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now this is a properly short chapter. Thank goodness for small favors. Also, unsurprisingly, it’s easier to edit these half written chapters than it is to tackle the nothing of r.obot. (Sorry?) I am desperately trying to finish this story though. 
> 
> Story note: Pure domestic fluff. You doubt me? Don’t doubt me when I say that.

o.o.o.o

Raoul is forty-five when he finally feels his age.

“Pierpont Victor Marie de Foix, you come back here this instant.”

The young boy several meters in front of him stops mid-stride but does not turn around. He is too focused on watching a stray dog sprint around the corner, completely unconcerned that his pursuer has ceased his chase. Only once the animal is out of sight does Piers turn around. Jamming his hands into his pockets, with practiced ease he bows his head contritely as he walks to stand before Raoul. Brown hair that is growing much too long covers a face that is so reminiscent of the boy’s mother and Raoul laments that his clothes are already in disarray only five minutes into his care, thinking of how his sister would chide.

All of his nieces and nephews have spent at least one summer with their eccentric uncle, a title Raoul carries with much pride. Most of them have pleaded for more visits if only to escape their parents for two months out of the year. This summer, it is the youngest of Amelie’s alone who comes to him. At eleven years old, Piers has yet to outgrow the desire to lose himself in the forest and the sea. The others are much too old to think spending a summer with their uncle on a fishing boat is a proper diversion. They are more inclined to the city life that he now only remembers distantly, as though it had been another lifetime completely.

Seeing the children is a joy he cannot have imagined, a joy outlined in sadness because in their presence, he sees all the things that once had been and also that which will never be. He remembers a childhood that had been filled with loving parents, laughter as well as tears. He thinks of his brother, of the family Philippe was never able to have and the uncle that the children are deprived of in his absence. Raoul himself has never expected to have anything more than his siblings and their families and now, Erik but the children breathe fresh life into his well-loved routine. At times though, he cannot help but wonder if having children of his own would have been the same. They inspire in him a ferocity, an instinct to protect them from any hardship they may come across and a desperate need to see them flourish. It is a good feeling, one that he oftentimes struggles to remember when they try his patience after long weeks spent together.

Piers mutters when he is close enough, “It is de Chagny.”

Raoul shifts his nephew’s luggage in order to carry it all in one hand so that he can place his other on the young boy’s shoulder. “You cannot run around town so heedlessly.” His nephew looks up momentarily to pout at him, but he looks contrite and Raoul does his best to explain himself to ease the censure. “This is a busy port and a growing town. Those with carriages or wagons may not easily see you nor be able to maneuver around you.” He musses the boy’s shaggy hair. “And if something happens to you, then who is to keep me company this summer? Do you know how angry your mother would be with me? Oh, she would yell and possibly place me in the punishment corner.”

Piers grins at his joking, no longer dragging his feet through the dirt. “Sorry, uncle.”

Still, Raoul keeps a hand on his shoulder as a reminder to not run off again, knowing that the town looks different summer to summer and will always succeed in leading a child to distraction. Once they have passed much of the bustle, passed the last of the well-worn streets, Piers looks up at him expectantly. Raoul stops and even though he takes his hand off of his shoulder, finds himself having to say, “You know that you cannot simply disavow your father’s name.”

“But I _am_ a Chagny.” He stomps his foot as punctuation.

Raoul struggles not to smile, especially when Erik appears, threading his fingers through his hand. “This one is a handful. He reminds me of you.”

Raoul snorts in response and when his nephew looks hurt, gives a sidelong glare to Erik. He is about to say that he was not laughing at his statement, but Piers shouts with his shoulders pulled back and head held up high.

“Mother is a Chagny and she says I look just like you when you were younger.”

“Next thing you know, he will want to join the navy,” Erik comments lightly as he presses against Raoul’s side and it is difficult for the once viscount not to roll his eyes.

“Your mother is Amelie de Foix-neé de Chagny,” he explains mildly, not bothering to address his statement of their similar appearances. Piers does look more Chagny than Foix – though to Raoul, Piers looks quite like Amelie did as a child – but saying so would only encourage him. “She is de Foix now though she will always be a Chagny.”

His sister finds it funny. Even her husband, the baron, finds it to be more amusing than disrespectful. He suspects it is because they have four other sons who more than willingly carry their father’s name that they find such humour in Piers’s insistence at being a Chagny. Raoul simply cannot help but feel that disavowing a surname is like denying not only one’s parents but one’s siblings as well, a thought that sits uneasily with him.

His nephew’s lower lip quivers and Erik squeezes Raoul’s hand in solidarity even though he knows the blond is going to eventually break under the young boy’s dejection as he does every time the subject comes up.

“You should be proud of your origins,” Raoul says, trying to stay firm, “of your father and family.”

The boy’s expression does not change and Raoul cannot suppress a sigh. He inclines his head toward the path, unwilling to release Erik’s hand to point. “Go ahead. Do not run off the path again. When you run through another nettle bush, I will not help you.”

“Yes, uncle.” Piers sniffs at him and turns slowly, shoulders low and feet dragging once more.

Frowning, Raoul makes a decision and pretends to mutter to himself, “But I can see the Chagny countenance.”

The change is immediate in his nephew and Raoul knows he has been heard. Piers glances up at him with wide eyes, fighting a grin before he races off ahead, repeating again, “Yes, uncle” loud enough to scare some nearby birds into flight. He zigzags down the path, looking at every plant and insect that catches his eye.

“I do not remember being that energetic,” Raoul comments even as he tugs Erik forward in order to keep the young boy in sight.

The reaper smirks. “You were worse and much more dramatic. I believe you were around his age when you thought you would never love again.”

Raoul groans. “I was young, very young then.” Checking first to make sure the path is empty of any observers, he tilts his head up in a silent request that Erik easily fulfills by pecking him gently on the lips. He adds with a smile, “I was also thankfully wrong. Although at the time, I was blind to you.” If he thinks back on it now, he _had_ loved Erik though. He has probably always loved him, first as the dearest of friends and confidants and now as his dearest heart. “I did not think to love you as I do now.”

“I was but an old man to you then,” Erik replies, lightly. “There is no age difference greater than that seen through a child’s eyes.”

Raoul wonders at that, his smile fading in thought. Erik’s physical appearance has not changed in all the years that he has known him. His presence has been immutable and in the years that have passed, he has tried to explore every single facet of the reaper’s being but knows he has barely even begun to understand it all. He wishes, not for the first time, that they had more time. “Is it odd?” he asks eventually.

Seeing his frown, Erik’s tone becomes serious. “Is what odd?”

The reaper’s concern is always most clear in his eyes and Raoul is pleased to see the emotion not because he worries the older man, but because it shows the ease with which he can read him. “Me,” he tries to explain, “aging when you remain the same.”

“You are simply catching up.” Erik squeezes his hand and it is with an easy shrug of his shoulder that he brushes of Raoul’s concerns. “Finally. You know I have loved you since you were but a babe. Do you think that would change now that you have a few wrinkles upon your face? Do you think anything could change the way I feel for you?”

He immediately feels cowed by the thought, that this man, that this being could have loved him for so long. He thinks of the years spent together and apart, thinks of everything Erik has done in order for them to be together. “I…” He wants to say thank you for the gift of not only his love but his sacrifices, but it feels less than the other man deserves. Raoul knows he is not worthy and has greatly abused his affection for a large part of his life and though they have since reconciled for those lost years, it never feels enough. Instead of focusing on such regrets, he asks instead, “What did you see that day I was born?”

Erik looks confused for a brief moment before he realizes what he is asking. “I saw you. Your soul called to me like none before and I believe none after will. I could do nothing more than answer.”

Ducking his head, Raoul bumps his shoulder against Erik’s not sure what to do with the way his heart feels so full. “Does it still call to you?”

He watches as the reaper closes his eyes, footsteps not faltering for a moment. The corners of his lips pull into the most gentle smile Raoul has ever seen from him and he wishes he could capture the moment forever in his mind.

When Erik opens his eyes a moment later, he makes sure he has Raoul’s gaze before he answers earnestly, “It has never stopped calling.”

And, Raoul has to look away because it is embarrassing how pleased he is to hear the words despite having already guessed the answer.

He is startled when Erik presses a kiss to his cheek and whispers in his ear, “I love you.”

His response is immediate though, “I love you more,” although he is disappointed that they are still outside so that he cannot kiss Erik how he wishes he could. “What would you do without me?” he jokes, eager to see how his reaper will respond this time. With all the answers that he has been given throughout the years, Erik has never disappointed.

He does not disappoint this time either. “I would live in darkness,” he answers before kissing him once more on the cheek, lingering there for a moment. It takes all of Raoul’s control not to simply drop the luggage and pull him into an embrace. Erik helps by pulling a respectable distance away, taking with him part of the temptation.

Still, Raoul grins the entire way home, his grip on Erik’s hand a steady comfort and promise for later on that evening. When they reach the picket fence signifying the edge of his property, he realizes that he has lost sight of his nephew. The young boy is no longer running around the path and the front door of his home is still closed. Looking down the road to see if he had gone past towards the beach, he notes that it is empty before checking the bench beneath the tree and the forest nearby. Piers is nowhere to be found though.

Before he can begin to worry, Erik leads him towards the front gate where Raoul finally spots him. His nephew is on his stomach in the garden inspecting what Raoul can only assume is a bug. He does not doubt that his trousers and shirt are filthy from his position, but he does wonder how dirt has somehow been smeared across the back of his shirt as well.

“Piers!” He looks to the heavens for a moment, thinking of all the laundry that he will be forced to do in the coming months.

His nephew looks at him confused because he has not only stayed on the path, he has also made it home before him. “Uncle?”

“You can always make him do the laundry,” Erik suggests, having guessed the source of his grief.

Raoul thinks it to be sound advice when the boy sits up and reveals not only dirt but grass and fruit stains on his clothing.

Unaffected by his uncle’s obvious dismay, Piers asks, “When are we going to start our morning tomorrow?”

Knowing it to be a lost cause, Raoul simply places the luggage down to help him out of the strawberry patch, dusting him off as best he can. He is mostly thankful that it has not rained recently.

“Do you not want to sleep in after your journey?” he suggests hopefully.

“No.” Piers crosses his arms even though he allows his uncle to fuss over his clothing and rub at his cheek in an effort to get the dirt off there as well. “I want to be on the L’âme Prêts. You promised this year that I could do more than simply sit and watch.”

“It is a lot of work.” Raoul had rather hoped Piers would have forgotten about that promise. He grabs the luggage and ushers him inside. “Remove your shoes,” he instructs. “You must remember that you have other chores here as well. We have no maids or butlers.”

“I know, uncle,” Piers replies in a near whine, hopping on one foot to remove his shoes. “And I will do them, but I even asked Mother and Father and both agreed that I could help.”

Raoul steadies him to help remove the shoe, lining it up against the wall once it is off. He thinks of all the ways a boy as young as his nephew could injure himself but says, “I cannot go back on my word, can I?” He has never successfully said ‘no’ to any of his nieces and nephews, especially when the option of blaming his sister has been taken away.

“No.” Piers shakes his head. “You cannot.” Then, handing him his other shoe and grabbing his luggage, he heads towards the stairs. “I shall be down shortly for dinner,” he states imperiously, “during which we can discuss tomorrow’s schedule.”

Erik stifles a laugh behind his hand though he knows it is useless when Raoul glares at him half-heartedly. “He very much reminds me of you,” he says fondly, knowing that the blond cannot respond while his nephew is still present.

Piers is up the stairs and in the guest room before Raoul tugs at Erik’s hand firmly and quickly forgives him for his comment so that he can finally give into the urge to embrace him. Wrapping his arms around the reaper’s neck, he revels in the solid presence and warmth so readily available to him. He hums in contentment before leaning his forehead against Erik’s shoulder and stating, “It is going to be a long summer.”

Erik turns the small distance to kiss Raoul on his temple and does not need to see his grin to know it is there.

Raoul is forty-five and it feels like through some unknown luck of fate, they have made a family.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 09

A/N: Don’t forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Chapter Review: What? A kid!fic. And no one dies in this chapter! For shame. One more chapter to go y’all. It’s… not going to be fluff. Just you know. Not.


	10. Does It Always Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is it, y’all. The end of the line for us. It always takes an inordinate amount of time to edit the sad stuff. I always have to step away for long periods of time.
> 
> Story note: Were you waiting for this moment to happen? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been dreading it. :(

o.o.o.o

Raoul is fifty-two the day that Erik begins to linger more than what could be considered normal.

For the past two years, Piers has been living and working with him, having convinced his parents not only to allow him to pursue a life as a fisherman but also to take on the Chagny name. Raoul is still uncertain how he managed to do so but cannot deny that he is thankful for it.

He has a child he considers a son, an heir and an apprentice with whom to teach his craft and leave both boat and cottage. He would not have allowed it had he thought his nephew would go hungry, but Piers proves himself skilled in all aspects of this life. He is self-reliant and has instincts even better than Raoul’s when determining where to cast his nets. The boy is made for the sea and Raoul has spent the past two years waiting for the moment when his beloved nephew becomes unhappy with his decision and desires to return home. That moment never comes.

Piers has grown to be a fine young man. He is tall enough that Raoul needs to tilt his head back to look him in the eyes. His skin is bronze from long days beneath the sun and his blond hair is shorn nearly completely off for ease of care. He has retained the endless energy that Raoul had once hoped he would grow out of. He is well-muscled and boisterous, and his laugh reminds him of the grandfather Piers has never known.

He has even managed the herculean task of persuading him to work on the boat by himself some days. Raoul’s initial reluctance has nothing to do with his nephew’s youth or some notion of inexperience and everything to do with simple worry. He honestly does not know how to stop worrying for the boy even though he is now a young man, and Raoul finds himself muttering near silent apologies to Philippe for how much anxiety he must have caused him in his youth. However, he eventually does allow it if only to offset the fact that living with another person means he has less time to spend with Erik.

It is an adjustment not being able to speak with his reaper whenever he pleases, but he supposes the title of ‘eccentric’ does help. His nephew believes him to speak to himself quite often and jests of his senility but never cruelly so. Raoul only smiles in response and Erik shares a smirk of his own.

Time has been less kind to him. He has wrinkles upon his face, and the beard he has allowed to grow is gray. Raoul may be more fit than others his age with all the labour he has done through the years, but there is a weakness in his joints, one that he has long since associated with the weather but is now simply a constant. He feels more fragile than he should be and tires quickly, but his mind is still quick and his eyes even better.

Still, it is not until mid-morning that Erik’s presence becomes something to be noted. He stays just at the edge of his sight, at the edge of his awareness but certainly present.

Raoul worries.

He worries through the morning catch and the market, worries through the lunch they have at the house of his mentor’s son and through the repairs they perform on the L’âme Prêts while Piers carries on as though it were just another day. He, on the other hand, feels as though the hours pass as but a dream, the world speeding around him while he remains motionless and yet somehow carried through it all. There frozen with him is Erik and a look in his eyes that Raoul has perhaps only ever seen once before. He simply cannot place when or why.

When the day ends and nothing has happened, Raoul only worries more.

It is not until night has fallen, Piers has retired to his bedroom, and they are ensconced in their bed that he asks, “What will happen to Piers?”

Erik turns to gather him in his arms in an effort to stave off this conversation, as though silence will make it less real. They have spent many nights as such, on their sides, chest-to-chest with whispered conversations. Wrapped in each other’s arms, safe and warm, Raoul cannot help but relax into the embrace though his mind is still in turmoil. His concern only grows when the reaper remains silent longer. So close, he can easily feel how shaky Erik’s breathing is and it dawns on him.

“Oh,” he whispers, shutting his eyes, but not before he sees something akin to despair cross Erik’s features.

His reaper presses their foreheads together, nose brushing against his, and Raoul tilts his head the slightest bit in invitation. The response is immediate. Erik kisses him lightly, simply presses his lips and lingers; it is a touch, a caress, a benediction. Erik has always considered Raoul something precious, something to adore, and he has made sure that he knows it.

Raoul only removes his arm from around Erik to reach up to touch his face, pulling away slightly in order to be able to look at him properly. Feather light caresses trace the depth of Erik’s sacrifices for him throughout his life, and he wants to erase the sorrow present now, the hint of fear that he knows is for _him_. It seems wrong for Erik to look as afraid as Raoul feels.

He stares at a face he knows better than his own, one he has seen almost every day of his entire life, unchanged from year to year. Although Erik has long convinced him that he does not find it odd as he ages, Raoul has always felt the dichotomy of their foothold in time. Seeing Erik physically remain the same only makes him feel ever more distinctly how his body is deteriorating. Yet, there is little he can do to hate a body that Erik cherishes and praises so often, understanding his insecurities, and Raoul finds himself convinced if only by the strength and persistence of Erik’s conviction. And though time causes things to ever change, he has one constant that can erase every doubt, Erik’s love.

Stopping his caresses in favour of laying his palm against Erik’s cheek, he traces the reaper’s bottom lip with his thumb and cannot imagine a moment when he would not want to be here, refuses to imagine a time when he will not be able to do this. His throat constricts as his thoughts brush against the possibility despite his resolve.

Erik kisses his thumb before revealing, “It is Piers though,” hoping to draw Raoul away from the thoughts that make him frown just so.

“What?” he is forced to ask when he gets lost in the sound of his voice instead of comprehending the words.

“You will be stupid and brave and…” Erik’s voice catches in his throat, so very near to breaking. He clenches his jaw and exhales sharply. Gazing past Raoul for long moments, he eventually says in a voice rough with poorly contained emotion, “You will be your wonderful self.” It sounds both accusatory and fond.

When Erik still refuses to look at him, Raoul moves to gently grasp his jaw to physically garner his attention. He says jokingly, “And here I had hoped to die peacefully in bed with you by my side.”

It is not the right thing to say. He despises himself right after speaking because a sob nearly breaks free and his chest heaves. Tears well and overflow, dropping to the pillow between them. His vision blurs and he takes a hiccupped breath. He tries to hide his face in the pillow and is desperately wiping at his tears when Erik grabs his wrist and kisses his knuckles before wiping the tears away himself. He wants to smile and apologize but all that he can manage is a shake of his head and a grimace. 

A tightening of the arms around him is all he has before Erik turns them, pulls him easily onto his chest and tucks Raoul’s head beneath his chin. There are no wayward limbs in the motion, no awkward and painful movements, no elbows or knees digging into sensitive areas and Raoul only distantly remembers a time when they had not fit this well, this easily together. The thought does little to quell such sudden anguish even though he feels anchored to the moment. He fists Erik’s nightshirt as he sobs and hides his face. He does not know where the tears come from, thinks he is assuredly too old to be crying like this, but Erik only holds him tighter, tries to quiet him with a steady ‘shh’ that reminds Raoul of waves upon the sea.

Like the sea, he eventually calms and the tears ebb. Forcing himself to take slow deep breaths, he wants to be strong enough to speak of this without breaking down. This is nature and as with all men, his death has simply been waiting for him. His death has always been with him, a comfort even. Still, his throat aches when he asks tentatively, “When?” There is always the chance that Erik will not tell him.

“Too soon.” The reaper sounds so very distant even while he clings ever more tightly to him. “Always too soon.”

Raoul struggles not to follow him back to all those decades ago when Erik had first said those words. He asks again instead, more urgently, “When?” because he needs to know how much longer he has to hold onto him.

With the silence that follows, he is almost certain he will not have an answer and focuses instead on the rise and fall of Erik’s chest as he breathes. He stares into the darkness and can see the silhouette of their bedroom. For all appearances, only a single person lives here, one set of clothes and shoes, one nightstand, a single razor, and a single escritoire with a sheaf of paper upon it. Raoul knows better. There is the bed that is much too large for a single man, the violin tucked in the corner of the room that he only barely knows how to tune much less play, and the drawings tucked within the right hand drawer. There are memories of them imprinted in the very fiber of the room, pieces of their time together suspended by routine and love. Like the strings of the violin, Raoul almost feels like he could reach out and pluck a memory just to let it resonate through him, peace, joy, and sometimes even anger. This is _their_ space, their home.

Erik silences the reverberation of Raoul’s memories with a single word. “Tomorrow.”

There is no response he can give to that.

_Too soon._

Erik is never wrong. Raoul has known that for years.

_Always too soon._

He will not be wrong now, no matter how much he and his reaper wishes it were otherwise. Glancing up at Erik, he knows just as certainly that he does not want to spend his last night soaking Erik’s shirt with tears. His mind clears, the anguish held at bay for now though balanced on a knife’s edge.

“He will think it to be his fault,” he says instead because it is easier to think of Piers’s life than of his own death.

“When do they not?” Erik replies vaguely and Raoul thinks of his parents, of Philippe, of his captain. “He will get over it,” the reaper continues perhaps unkindly, but Raoul cannot bring himself to chastise him. He is allowed some petulance.

“Perhaps,” he says contemplatively. His fingers ache when he finally releases Erik’s shirt, but the pain is soothed when he reaches down to twine his fingers with Erik’s. “I _am_ glad it is not him. You know, Piers has fallen for the blacksmith’s daughter.” The leather gloves are soft and familiar against his skin. “She is a pretty thing.”

Erik nods and leans forward to brush his lips on the top of Raoul’s head. “He trips over himself whenever he sees her. I know.”

Reveling in this closeness, Raoul’s laugh is muffled against Erik’s chest. He releases Erik’s hand so that he can lever himself up in order to see his expression, a resigned smile of fondness that is reserved for Piers. But his nephew is not who comes to mind. All he can think suddenly is _tomorrow already_ , selfish as he is.

The black leather glove placed on his cheek is familiar and Raoul leans into the touch before kissing him. He wonders if he has taken them for granted, if he has taken their legs entwined, their breaths mingling, and their faces so close together that a hushed word is too loud for granted. It all feels so fleeting, the memories of nights spent together all blending together, somehow unremarkable yet so very significant. He feels ill-equipped to relish it well enough, to appreciate how all it takes is the slightest of movements to press their lips together or the simple liberty he has to do so with Erik. So, he kisses him again, trying to force his mind to not only remember every moment they have shared but to memorize every detail of the present. He knows he is failing when he loses himself in the feel of Erik’s lips, their bodies pressed flushed together, and the fingers twined in his hair. He pulls away abruptly because he cannot breathe, not when the tears threaten to fall once more.

Dropping his head to rest on Erik’s chest, he hesitates to ask but feels he must, “Will you watch over him?”

This time Erik’s voice is grave. “I will do what I can.”

And Raoul knows he can only do so much; he hopes that Piers is never able to see Erik after all. His circumstance with the reaper was a special case. It has been exceptional and the muscles in his back and shoulders that he had not realized were so tense relax just a fraction. He can accept this. After all, Erik will be with him every moment.  

“Are you scared?” the reaper asks.

He thinks for a moment, of the many years he has lived in fear. “Yes.” He breathes in Erik’s scent and feels his heart beat unsteady and nervous against his chest. “I am afraid of how much I will miss this, of having to spend a single moment with you not by my side. I am afraid of leaving you.” The familiar question falls out before he can stop it, “What will you do without me?” Still, he waits to hear any of the flippant and well-worn phrases that Erik has, needing every familiarity he can get.

He sniffles when there is no playfulness in Erik’s response.

“I shall never love again.”

The words are familiar. The feel, the sound of it drags him into a memory. Except Erik is not teasing his twelve-year-old self, he is serious and pained and it sounds more a promise than a statement. He does not know how to make it better and is selfish enough to want Erik to only ever love him, but he knows that would only make him suffer unnecessarily.

“All first loves feel like that,” he replies though his heart is not in it. 

Erik looks worse and Raoul noses his throat before moving to press their cheeks together so that he can slide his arms behind Erik’s neck in order to hug him. He admits that he clings to him when Erik’s arms settle around his waist. They cannot stay like this for very long, he will soon lose feeling in his hands, but he needs to be this close right now.

A single thought rings clear, _so it does always hurt like this_ but he knows it is not the truth. They have had sunrises on his boat and slept beneath the wide expanse of endless night. They have had furtive touches become confident teasing, passionate encounters that pass in a haze and steady comfort that settles peace deep within ones bones. They have had such happiness and joy, even their arguments and frustrations have made him love Erik more. It hurts now only because they have had everything.

“I love you,” Erik says.

“I love you more,” he whispers back.

They remain awake into the night.

Tears come and go as do memories of their past and hopes that had been for their future. Raoul, of course, considers trying to change their plans for tomorrow, but he knows he cannot run from his fate. When he thinks of running, he thinks of all the time he had lost with his brother and knows that Piers will somehow suffer if he returns to being so selfish.

When he can talk, he whispers every thought that comes to mind, unwilling to hold anything back. He tells Erik every secret he holds though is certain that the reaper knows them all. He lists every single thing that he loves about him and even the things that he hates. The words are fervent and desperate, and he is both relieved and distraught when Erik is just the same because hope is a cruel thing and it still lives within him. It believes that perhaps there is a way that fate is wrong, but Erik’s hold on him is nigh painful though somehow resigned.

And Raoul finds himself saying words of comfort aloud, whether for Erik or for himself he does not know.

_It is okay_ , he assures but neither of them believes it.

The morning breaks and Raoul is drawn from his daze with warm breath on his cheek and his name being spoken reverently to ease him from his thoughts. He feels exhausted and torn apart, both his head and heart aching. He had been lost in the simple rise and fall of Erik’s chest, his mind too tired to focus on anything else. A trail of kisses ends on his lips and he opens his mouth eagerly, sighing and relaxing further beneath the touch of the man he loves. He is pressed deeper into the bed, warm body above him and clever hands that know how to make him arch for more currently trying to divest him of his clothing.

It is not the first time they start the day as such, naked and twined.

Lust and desire have lost its urgency. How they want is different from how it had once been in the beginning but is no less remarkable for the change. The volatile inferno has turned into a steady flame, a need that never goes away but is not always slaked by a tumbling of bodies desperate against one another. They explore each other once more, as though something will have changed from one day to the next, but they are always eager and willing to find out.

There is intent in their touches, but this particular morning, Raoul grabs Erik’s hands unable to stand the feel of leather against his skin. They move against each other instead, sliding into a rhythm that is slow and languorous and near hedonistic. It is perfect and yet somehow not enough. When he glances up, he sees Erik looking at him intently as though he were trying to memorize every expression and Raoul holds his gaze. He stares back until Erik licks his lips before leaning down to kiss him with such tenderness and love that Raoul comes with a surprised groan that would have been too loud had Erik not stifled the sound with a kiss. The reaper’s breath stutters against his mouth when he follows shortly after.

They stay pressed together, Raoul beneath the weight of Erik’s body that has tensed already despite his release. They stay until the sounds of Piers moving about forces them apart. Even then, Erik lingers longer than he normally would, stealing kiss after kiss as Raoul is forced to get ready for a day he will never be ready for. When his reaper leaves, Raoul thinks he sees a shimmer in his eyes and wants to call him back.

He does not.

After all, Erik is there just at the edge of his sight, at the edge of his awareness but certainly present. Raoul knows it is because he will be tempted to interfere and that is something he cannot do any longer, not this time.

Raoul is vigilant the entire day. He feels sick, his heart beating erratically, and he wonders what will happen to Piers. Today is their day off. More repairs on their beloved ship need attention and they can afford to relax. They head to town and Piers is chatting distractedly. His eyes wander as he talks, searching the streets and Raoul smiles fondly at him. The young man has been especially excited for this excursion and Raoul had still yet to learn how to say _no_ to his nephew.

“You should speak with her,” he suggests. One last pearl of wisdom before it is too late because falling in love with Erik has been the best thing to have ever happened to him.

“What, uncle?” He feigns confusion. He is much too old and too tall to be able to play innocent any longer.

Raoul smiles and claps him on the arm. “You are a Chagny. I love you and you have always made me proud. What is speaking to one girl compared to earning an old fisherman’s respect?” He winks and the shocked expression on Piers’s face surprises a laugh out of him, one that sounds weak even to his own ears.

“Uncle – I…”

And Raoul sees it before he hears the shouts because Erik turns his head away from them, cannot watch a wagon laden with wood barreling towards them. Its owner chases it down the street and if Raoul were a younger man, he might be able to save them both, but time and age are cruel and unforgiving.

He pushes Piers away and tries to defy fate and save himself as well but the weakness in his joints twinge painfully, a fragility he is still unused to makes him crumple short of safety. The wagon strikes him and drags him beneath its wheel before overturning.

Coughing blood, a startling red against the grey of his beard, Raoul hears a roar in his ears. He turns his head to see if Piers is safe. The boy, and in this moment, he is still just a boy, stares at him in shock between some logs that have fallen atop him. It is a heavy moment before his nephew scrambles on his hands and feet, trying to get to him, straining to lift logs off of him. There are tears in his eyes and he is shouting something Raoul cannot hear.

Erik is already at his side, one hand brushing the hair from his face. Raoul tries to raise his hand to no avail because even his reaper cries for him. He is hot and cold at the same time though he is certain that both are simply just an interpretation of pain in this moment. When Erik bends forward to give him one last kiss, the tears fall upon his face and Raoul sighs once more in the relief both the touch and the errant tears give him.

By the time Piers skids to his knees beside him, Erik has removed his glove.

“Uncle.” He does not know where to put his hands. “Hold on please. The doctor is coming. The doctor.” He looks around lost, but safe.

Raoul attempts to smile at him but there is too much blood on him and the ground to be anything but gruesome. He cannot breathe but he can somehow feel the blood pouring from him. The heat he had felt before has disappeared and he feels unspeakably cold. He opens his mouth but all that comes is a gurgle of blood that climbs up his throat and between his lips.

He locks eyes with Erik and wills him to understand. _I love you more. More than I have ever been able to express_. It takes all his energy to do so, but he turns his hand, palm up and Erik twines their fingers together – the glove no longer between them. He would smile if he could, finally being given this of Erik as well, the _everything_ he has long since wanted.

Raoul is fifty-two and death’s touch feels like coming home.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 10 and fic

A/N: Don’t forget to R/R (Read and Review)!  
Fic Review: I’m such a lying liar who said that I would never kill Raoul ever again. This is why I was going to make it just a 5+1 because if you stop at Chapter 06 everything is still fine. D: Surprisingly, saddest chapter for me is still Philippe’s death.

Also, I hate myself because that line “It is not the first time…” is always followed by “But it will be the last” in my mind, but I decided to leave it unsaid because that’s just cruel and makes me sadface (this whole chapter does that, but still).


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